We Grow Together
by madscientist1313
Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Sequel to In the Beginning
1. I Love You

**Author's note:** This is the 2nd in a series about Bucky's relationship with Dr. Tessa Sullivan (OFC). If you'd like to know how they got here, read In the Beginning... that pretty much lays out... their beginning.

 **Disclaimer:** Obviously, I own nothing Marvel.

* * *

"Yeah, I know," he hears her say, voice muffled behind the door. Then, "I know. I didn't forget," after a long pause. _She must be on the phone_ , he realizes when no other voice sounds in response. He knocks lightly before letting himself in.

"I will," she says in an exasperated tone as she turns to face him, showing him a _one minute_ finger. "I promise."

He sets the grocery bags down on the counter and starts to unpack them while she finishes her call.

"Yes. I love you too," she intones with a slight laugh. "Okay. Merry Christmas." And she hangs up the phone. "What is all this?" she says with forced cheer as she turns back to face him.

"I'm making you dinner," he mumbles, as he twists around, looking for somewhere on the cluttered countertops to set things down. "This place is a disaster."

She pulls up a stool at the breakfast bar, rests her chin on her hand, and watches him work. His brow furrows in either confusion or disgust, or maybe both, as he shifts piles of papers and empty cans and bottles to make room.

He looks up at her and notices a melancholy, far off look in her eyes as she follows his movements. "Who do you love?" he asks simply.

She startles a bit. "What?"

"On the phone," he states, pulling out a garbage bag from the cabinet. "You said, _I love you too_."

He starts to toss the bottles and cans into the bag. "I'm recycling those," she says, pointing to the trash in his hands. "Don't throw them in with the trash."

"Recycling," he utters under his breath. It's still a new concept to him. Of course so is all of the plastic people use nowadays. "You shouldn't drink this crap anyway," he says, holding up a few empty energy drink cans. "It's poison."

She rolls her eyes. "You sound like Natasha."

He ties up the now full trash bag and stops everything else to gaze at her. She looks down, has for days. The holidays can have that effect on people, he's no stranger to it himself. But he misses her smile. "So, who do you love?" he asks again, an impish quality to his voice.

"Just a friend," she singsongs. "No need to worry."

"I wasn't worried. I just thought you might be talking to your family."

She sighs, long and drawn out. "Yep. My family."

"Or is it just a friend?"

"Same thing, I guess," she says before propping herself up on the stool and leaning over the bar to look at the food he's unpacked. "What are you making me?" she asks, clearly eager to change the subject.

"Christmas dinner," he says with a nod. He turns around to flip on the oven and begins rummaging through the cabinets of the small galley kitchen. He comes up with a couple of small pots and a large roasting pan that she honestly didn't know were even in there. Pepper had made sure that everyone's apartment was fully stocked before they moved in. But she'd been here for more than two years now and had never come across those items before. Of course, she didn't often go looking for cooking utensils. What would be the point in that when there was a perfectly good cafeteria downstairs and a common area upstairs that was always stocked with food?

"Christmas is tomorrow. And I think Tony's expecting everyone in the _grand hall_ ," she says, referring to the small ballroom just below the penthouse where their parties were typically held.

"Well," he says turning to face her, leaning his hip against the oven, "tonight is _our_ Christmas." He shoots her a sly but genuine smile and she can't help but return the expression.

"And you can do that?" she asks, leaning so far over the bar that she's practically crawled on top of it. She's looking through the piles of fresh vegetables and herbs that he's laid out on the counter beneath the bar. "You know how to cook all of this?"

He walks over and lightly slaps her hands away. "Yeah, Tess. I can cook carrots and potatoes." He side-eyes her as he gathers the produce and takes it to the sink. "You really have no idea to cook anything, do you?"

She shrugs. "Never really came up."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I never really had to learn."

She never talked about her family or where she came from or how she grew up. And other than a few questions here and there – because he was genuinely curious – he never pushed. It was obvious that her past was a bit of a sore subject, and no one understood that concept better than him.

She leaves her perch and comes to stand beside him at the sink. "You wanna wash these?" he asks, handing her some carrots. She takes them and runs them under the water. "You know how to peel?" he inquires, holding a potato in front of her.

"I can probably figure it out."

He sets her up at the sink with a vegetable peeler – which she'd never seen either, oddly enough – and moves to the opposite corner to start prepping the chicken.

"Your mom taught you how to cook?" she asks quietly.

He nods, "She did. She said that she'd feed me 'til I was 18, then I was on my own. And since she didn't expect that I'd find a good woman to take care of me for a _long_ time, I'd better learn how to fend for myself."

Tessa laughed lightly. "Sounds like she knew you well."

Bucky smiles to himself as he thinks back, remembering his mother's words, her coy, crooked smile as she said them. "Yeah, she did."

"I never knew my mom," she says so softly, he almost doesn't hear her. "Or at least I don't remember her."

Bucky looks over his shoulder at her and sees that she's still bent over her potatoes, hyperfocused on peeling them just so. She makes no move to look at him, and he's pretty sure that's by design. It's almost a test – seem too eager to know more and she'll shut down completely, say nothing at all and she might never bring up her family again. He plays this game himself sometimes, not on purpose of course, but he's noticed himself doing it just the same. Over the last year, since being brought into the fold here, he's become more aware of how his struggles with his past affect those around him.

"Who raised you?" he asks, turning back to the chicken. It seemed safer to ask something like his than to push her on what happened to her mother.

"My grandfather for a while. Then Scott and Alex took us in."

"Us?" he asks. He hears the peeler hit the side of the sink as soon as he says it, and he shuts his eyes, mentally kicking himself. She was talking and now he's gone and ruined it. _Is this how people feel around me?_ he wonders briefly.

She's silent for a long moment as she retrieves the peeler and rinses it off. "Me and my sister," she says finally, the words clipped short.

He lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. _Maybe we come back to that later,_ he thinks to himself before asking, "Who are Scott and Alex?"

"My brothers," she volunteers, this information coming out a little easier. "Well, adoptive. Sort of. After my grandfather died… no one wanted us. We didn't have any other family. And no one would adopt a mutant." She stops for a moment and he thinks that she might be done talking altogether. He's just about to ask something else, anything else, just to keep her going, when she starts up again. "Most mutants don't see their powers develop until puberty. I was four when it started. My grandfather never told anyone. But… I don't know… I was just a kid… I don't know how people found out. But Scott found us, or we found him. We met in a children's home outside of Chicago. He was an orphan too. And Alex." Bucky turns around to see her, watch her as she slowly, carefully peels each potato while talking about her brothers. "Scott was 15 at the time and he was just trying to find Alex, who'd aged out of the system." She sets the peeler down and looks up at the cabinet in front of her, clearly gazing at nothing as she recalls, "He took care of us. He became our big brother. And when Alex found him and said he was taking him away to some school in upstate New York, Scott said that we needed to go with them." She braces herself on the counter and shakes her head at the memory. "It was more… complicated than that, of course. But eventually Alex was able to become our legal guardian – after the Professor pulled a ton of strings. And then… well, I grew up at that school." She turns around to face him, not at all surprised to see him watching her from across the small kitchen. "Hence not knowing how to cook."

"So it was like a boarding school?" She nods. "I always thought you'd have to be crazy to go somewhere like that. I always figured they were like the Army, like basic training, only with more books and tests."

She laughs a bit and leans back on the counter before saying, "Sometimes, maybe." Then, shaking her head slightly, "It was a good place. With good people."

He considers only briefly whether or not to ask the question begging to be asked. "So why are you here then? At Christmas… why aren't you with your family?"

She looks at him long and hard before saying in a measured tone, "Same reason you aren't with your family. They're all dead."

He sees the pain in her eyes when she says it, but he can also see the resolute tilt of her chin, the firm line of her lips. She's doing all she can to make it seem okay, to fight off the sadness. That's a trick he knows all too well. He looks away, knowing he can't do anything to take away her pain breaks his heart. "I'm sorry," he says simply.

She merely nods in response. "So," she breathes out after a moment, "am I supposed to cut these up now or something?" She indicates the peeled potatoes on the counter.

He pushes off of the counter and goes to fill a large pot with water. "Nope," he says, placing the pot on the stove and holding his hand out for them. "Now we boil them."

She wrinkles her nose while handing over the potatoes. "Boil them?" she asks with a face. "That sounds gross. Are you sure we aren't supposed to fry them or something?"

He chuckles. "Don't you know how mashed potatoes are made?"

She thinks for a moment, making a totally new, completely adorable face. "From a box?"

"You've got a lot to learn, doll," he laughs, shaking his head.

She scoots a bit closer to him and leans her head on his shoulder. "So you boil them and then you mash them?"

"Basically. Add butter and cream," he replies, leaning his head onto hers.

"We're not boiling the chicken, are we?"

He smiles wide. "No room in the pot."

She steps back suddenly, cocking her head at him in an assessing way. "This isn't my Christmas present, is it? A sarcastic cooking lesson?"

"You were expecting a present?" he asks, unable to hide the coy smirk on his face.

She rolls her eyes at him rather dramatically and he steps away from the stove to stand directly in front of her. His hands fall to her hips as he presses his forehead into hers. "Presents are for later," he says softly. "It isn't Christmas yet, remember?" He pulls back a bit and places a kiss on her crown. "And I'm not giving you a lesson. I'm making dinner." He gives her a little shove with his left hand as he turns her toward the kitchen doorway. " _You_ are going to take a bath," he says, all but forcing her out of the room.

"Why? Do I stink?" she tosses over her shoulder with a wink.

"I don't trust you in here. Go relax."

She leans back over the breakfast bar on her way to the bathroom and says, "It's been a long day. You might want to check on me to make sure I don't fall asleep in there."

He glances back at her and notices just how tired she looks. "I'll keep that in mind," he says before throwing his chin in the direction of the bathroom in a shooing manner.

000

An hour later, she's back in the kitchen, this time cutting up apples for a pie. "Can't you buy this stuff in a can?" she asks before letting out a long drawn-out yawn.

"That's disgusting." He absently scoots a little closer to her, unconsciously drawn to the clean honeysuckle scent clinging to her damp hair. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again."

She snorts out a laugh. "Just because it's harder doesn't mean it's better. I've eaten ready-made pie filling before. And it was delicious."

He stops pressing the dough into the pan and turns to face her, a look of utter horror on his face. "You ate pie filling?" he asks. She nods without glancing up. "As in, just the filling?"

"It was college. I was poor. Those cans were cheap." She tosses the last pieces of apple into the bowl between and them and cocks her head in his direction. "I had a can opener. I had a spoon. And I have to tell you, that shit is de- _licious_."

He shakes his head as though he might be able to fling the thought of her eating that crap out of a can like a deranged homeless person right out of his head. "We're never speaking of this again."

They work in silence as she tosses the apples with the melted butter and sugar he set out and he checks the potatoes. It's nice. He can't remember the last time he cooked a big meal like this. And while he and Steve sometimes have to dodge each other in their kitchen while putting together meals, he hasn't really cooked _with_ anyone in a long, long time. Actually, this whole evening reminds him of cooking with his sister. Being so much younger, she was always at a bit of a loss for what to do. Like Tessa, she turned her nose up at raw chicken, couldn't fathom how myriad ingredients came together to make food, and spent a good deal of time pilfering anything mixed with sugar.

"If you keep eating them, there won't be anything to fill the pie with," he says softly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

She holds her hands up in mock surrender and takes a step back from the counter. He hears the apple crunch in her full mouth and can't help but snicker as she attempts to choke down the evidence. "I'm hungry," she whines then. "I can smell the food, but I can't eat the food. It's terrible."

He dumps the apples into the pie pan before she can go back for more, sets the pie aside and washes his hands. "It's almost ready," he says, reaching for her. "You're being very patient."

She snuggles into his chest as his arms wrap around her. "Thank you for noticing," she says with a smirk.

It's actually more than hour before they can eat, but that isn't entirely his fault. Yeah, the chicken took a little longer than he thought, but she's the one who got a call and ducked out for "just a second" to check on something happening in the lab.

"Helluva second," he says to her as she stomps back into the apartment almost an hour late. He has the table set and is sitting there with a beer in his hand and a smug smile on his face.

"I'm starving," she drawls out, dragging herself dramatically over to the table.

"Why is anyone even up there?" he asks, referring to the research lab upstairs. "It's Christmas Eve."

She slumps into the seat across from him, rests her elbows on the table and drops her head into her hands. "It's Stark Industries. Places like this are built on people who work holidays. Well, people who work _all_ days, really. Every. Single. Day."

"I remember having Christmas dinner with Howard," he says, a far-off look gleaming in his eye for just a moment as he grasps at the old memory. "I think." The memory is fuzzy, like so many others. But he's sure that Howard was there, sure that he bought in turkey and roast potatoes and red wine – damn the rationing. He's sure that he stood and gave a speech that lasted at least 10 minutes, even if he can't recall a word that was said.

"Are these my plates?" she asks, pulling him from his reverie.

He looks up to find her examining the china closely, confused look on her face. He reaches over and plucks the plate from her hands. "They were in the top cupboard," he says. "You're probably too short to ever been able to find them." He picks up his dish too and goes into the kitchen to prepare their plates. When she makes a move to get up to follow him, he turns and throws up his left hand in a _stop_ gesture, waggling his index finger as a directive for her to sit back down.

"I'm not short," she mumbles, resuming her head-in-hands position at the table. "I'm above average height for a woman."

"Well then maybe you were too busy eating out of cans like a hobo to notice that you had fine china," he intones from the kitchen.

"No one says _hobo_ anymore." She's raises her head to look at the table in front of her, see if the silverware is at least the same that she normally uses. It is. The wine glass in front of her is a utensil she is more than familiar with. She perks up a bit, noticing the light liquid inside. "What's this?" she asks, picking up the glass and taking a large inhale. Oaky. And… peachy?

"I don't know," he replies, returning and setting a full plate in front of her. "But the lady at the store said it was good."

"It is," she declares, as the just-dry-enough chardonnay slips down her throat.

The corner of Bucky's mouth turns up in a small, crooked smile as he takes his seat across from her. "Good." He looks over at her and watches her eyes close as she takes another sip. He can tell that she's enjoying the wine, and he's pleased about that, but he can also see the exhaustion on her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the puffiness of her lids. "Eat," he directs, more than a little upset with himself for telling her it was fine to go check in at the lab.

She sets down her wine glass and picks up her fork with an excited, almost beaming expression on her face. They eat in silence for several minutes, Bucky eating like a normal person and Tessa shoveling mashed potatoes into her mouth like a starving toddler.

"You're gonna choke," he says finally, laughing.

Her mouth is full when she replies. "No." Then, following the massive gulp, "I didn't know this was what mashed potatoes were," she says with a big, dumb smile. "And the chicken too…" He looks down as the food in front of him, averting his eyes as an unwelcome blush takes over his face. "It's soooo good."

"It's really not that hard," he says, shyly shuffling the vegetables on his plate with his fork.

He feels the top of her bare foot slowly creep up his leg as she says, "I've never had a guy make dinner for me before."

"Really?" he asks incredulously. Her foot continues to slowly stroke his calf, which only adds to the redness in his cheeks.

"Well, Steve made me pizza once. And chicken soup. Oh and we experimented with sushi one night," she recalls, waving her fork in the air. "But I guess that doesn't really count."

He looks up at her pointedly. "It better not."

"Does that mean that pizza and sushi don't count as dinner or that Steve doesn't count as a _guy_?"

"Yes," he says simply, feeling his cheeks cool as the sound of her laughter fills his ears.

Her foot has made the move from his calf to his inner thigh, and while the blush of embarrassment may no longer be on him, another awkward-for-dinner-time feeling is starting to take over. "You have no idea," she starts in a low, seductive voice, "how much I'm looking forward to filling my _mouth_ ," she continues, leaning forward, her toes creeping along the inseam of his pants, "with that apple pie."

Her foot drops suddenly as she leans back in her chair, popping another bite of chicken into her mouth with a smug, satisfied smirk. He rolls his eyes as a deep chuckle emits from his chest. "You are…"

"Amazing?" she tries, mouth still full. He shakes his head and purses his lips like he's trying to come up with the right word. "Perfect?" she asks with a swallow.

"Definitely not."

"Beautiful?"

"Not _quite_ what I was thinking."

She sighs long and deep. "Brilliant? Sexy? Smart? Loyal? Coquettish?"

"I don't even know what that means."

"Honestly, I just keep coming back to amazing," she says with a shake of the head.

He gazes at her from across the table, crooked smile slowly widening as she takes another bite and lets out a tiny blissful moan. "I was going to say _a real jerk_. But I like amazing," he says with a nod. "It fits."

"Yeah, it does," she says with a smirk.

They finish the meal without words, just enjoying the food and enjoying knowing that the other is sitting right across the table. As soon as Bucky leans back in his chair, plate clean in front of him, Tessa gets up to collect the dishes. His hand comes up and takes hold of her wrist when she reaches in front of him. "You don't have to do that."

"I don't mind," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder and easily slipping his grasp. "Need another beer?" she asks, grabbing the empty bottle along with the plate. He nods happily and settles back in his chair.

His gaze drifts towards the window as she heads into the kitchen. "It's snowing," he says, almost to himself. He hears the clatter of dishes hitting the sink and cringes. "You okay in there?"

She appears suddenly around the corner, beer in hand, bright smile on her face. "It isn't Christmas without snow," she says, completely ignoring his question. She offers him the bottle and he grabs her wrist instead and pulls her into his lap.

"So what was Christmas like at mutant military school?" he asks as she settles herself in.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Quiet. Quieter anyway. A lot of the kids would go home for the holidays." She takes a quick swig of his beer and lays her head on his shoulder. "I don't know," she repeats before going silent.

He brings up his right hand up to her head and runs his fingers through her hair. "I remember snowball fights," he says. "And my mom yelling at me about catching pneumonia after coming home with wet mittens." He chuckles a bit at the memory, but feels a surge of sadness at the same time. Because it's one of just a handful of memories he still has of his mother, and of his childhood in general.

"Will you cook me Christmas dinner every year?" she asks softly.

He can hear the hesitation in her voice and it makes his chest constrict a bit. They don't talk about the future. He's still not entirely sure that someone like him can even really have a future. And sometimes he thinks she's feels the same way about herself. But there's not a doubt in his mind that if he gets a real chance at a future at all, she'll be in it. "Every year," he says, placing a gentle kiss on her head.

She turns in his lap to face him. "We could go have a snowball fight, if you want," she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Work up an appetite for pie?"

He laughs heartily and she takes that as a yes, jumping up from his lap and running into the bedroom to find her boots. "It just started snowing," he calls after her.

"I don't care," she yells back. Then, stumbling out of the bedroom as she struggles to get her boots on, "We can just take a walk until it builds up."

He stands up and moves over to her, wraps his arms around her middle and pulls her in close. She hugs him tightly back, burying her face in his neck. He breathes in the honeysuckle scent of her shampoo, feels her fingertips grasp his shoulder. "I love you," he says into her hair.

Without missing a beat, without even acknowledging that this was something new, something neither of them had ever said before, she grips him a little tighter and utters in return, "I love you too."


	2. Who Needs Space?

He can hear the movie still playing in the background, but he has no idea what's happening, nor does he care. All that matters to him in this moment is the way she smells and tastes as he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck.

"Ow," she yelps, batting him away. "What the hell? Are you a vampire now?"

He wants to laugh, but it's hard when he sees how serious her face is. "You were ignoring me," he tells her with a smirk.

"I was watching the movie." Tessa rubs her neck as though he had actually bitten her and not just given a little love nibble, and she turns back to the television.

He no longer wants to laugh. And he sure as hell doesn't want to watch some dumb movie about dinosaurs living in a park. "What is your problem?" he snaps at her.

She reaches over to the coffee table, grabs the remote, and pauses the movie. "Where's Steve?" she asks him, more than a little irritation in her voice.

"I don't know. Out." He scoots away from her on the sofa, trying to distance himself. "Why do you care?"

She looks at him like he's suddenly grown a second head. "It's movie night," she repeats, as though those words hold the answer to why she's so damn moody.

Bucky rolls his eyes dramatically. "Maybe he didn't want to watch this… this… whatever the hell this is."

"Jurassic Park," she supplies with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest.

He watches as she folds in on herself, deep frown taking over her countenance. She's pouting like a small, horribly disappointed child. And all at once he sees. "It's movie night," he breathes out with the realization.

She looks up at him, her green eyes dark with sadness. "He's never here anymore," she says in a small voice. "It's like he doesn't want to hang out with me. He's avoiding me."

Everything about her in that moment is so childlike and innocent, and frankly a little melodramatic, that he can't help but smile down at her. "I'm sure he's not avoiding you."

"He's very clearly avoiding me." She sits up straight and lets out a long sigh.

"I think he just wants to give us some space," he tries, reaching out to place his metal fingers atop her hand.

"I don't want space," she nearly shouts. "I want my friend." She pulls her hand away and jumps up from her seat on the couch, begins to pace the floor in front of him. "It isn't fair. You still live here so you get to see him. And you train together. And he's going to take you on missions."

"Maybe," he interjects.

She continues pacing as though he hadn't said a word. "We used to go for runs too, you know. And coffee. And he'd come visit me in my office. And _movie night_ ," she finishes, swinging her arm out to indicate the TV.

"Have you talked to him about this?"

She swings around and gives him an incredulous stare. "Talked to him? I haven't seen him. That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's _avoiding_ me."

She flops back down on the couch in a pathetic heap, and Bucky has to work to stifle a laugh. It's not that he thinks her pain and disappointment is funny. She's just so damn cute when she gets worked up. "Well," he says with a sigh, "He's probably in the common room now, if you want to go confront him."

She jerks her head towards him and levels him with an assessing stare. "You said you didn't know where he was."

"He was in the gym this afternoon, so he wouldn't be there. We ran this morning. And it's not like he's going out on any dates or anything." He gives her a bit of a coy look. "Where else would he be?"

She leans back into the couch cushions and collects her thoughts for a long moment, sitting in silence and staring off at nothing. "Okay," she says finally. "Okay." She jumps up from the couch and grabs the remote. "You need to watch this," she tells Bucky as she navigates back to the beginning of the movie for him. "I'll be back."

Sure enough, Bucky was right. When she enters the common room, there's Steve, sitting all by himself in a cushy chair in the corner, reading a book. "You've got to be kidding me," she says once she's close enough to see what he's reading.

He jumps in his seat and slams the book shut. "You scared the hell out of me," he intones, hand flying to his chest.

"You're reading Michael Crichton."

"Yeah," he says, setting the book down on the table next to him. "Sam recommended it. Not sure why."

She peers at the cover. _Timeline_. "It's not his best," she tells him, folding her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, it's kind of weird." He looks up at her and sees the almost angry stance she's taken in front of him. "Everything okay?" he asks, browns knitted together.

"We were watching Jurassic Park," she says, her toe beginning to tap out an impatient rhythm on the hardwood.

"Yeah? Is it any good?"

"Of course it's good," she snaps at him. "That's why I wanted you to see it."

"Oh," he responds before innocently saying, "I thought you and Bucky might just want some alone time."

She lets her hands fall down to her sides as she gives him an unbelieving look. "Why the hell would we want that?!"

"Uh," he starts, chuckling as he stands up to face her. "That's not obvious?"

She's working her hands into fists as she looks at him. His amusement obviously only adding to her frustration. "We have plenty of alone time," she says slowly. "I wanted time with _you_."

"Really?"

"Yes _really_." She takes in a deep breath to settle her nerves, and she unclenches her fists. "Where've you been?"

"What do you mean?"

"Steve," she says with shake of her head, "I haven't seen you in forever. You skip out on movies. You don't run with me anymore."

"I just figured you were busy," he interrupts.

"If we went a week without a run before, you'd be in my office bitching at me about working too hard and –"

"I don't _bitch_."

"You don't _talk_ … not to me… not anymore." She takes a seat on the arm of the chair he'd been in moments before, leaving him to tower over her.

"Tess," he starts before falling silent. "I'm sorry." He moves over to her and leans on the wall next to the chair so that they're just inches apart. "You're right. I haven't been around as much."

"Why not?" she asks without looking up. "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" he says with an incredulous laugh. "Why would I be mad at you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I started sleeping with your best friend and now you're avoiding me like the plague." She connects eyes with him for only a moment before saying, "I guess I figured you were pissed. Or… I don't know… weirded out?"

He lets out a small chuckle. "Actually, no." He uncrosses his arms and shoves off the wall. Making to sit on the arm of the chair, he nudges her off with his hip and she flops onto the seat cushion below. He looks down at her with a smile when he says, "It honestly doesn't seem weird at all. You and Bucky… you two… fit."

"But…"

"But nothing." He lets out a long sigh. "I honestly just figured that you'd want some space, some time to yourselves. I know how much you work, how little free time you have. And Buck… he so obviously wants to be around you all the time," he says with a lilt. "What you two have is new. And it's great. And I don't want to get in the way of that."

"You're an idiot," she snorts. "I'm not going to give my friends up just because I'm dating someone. This isn't high school."

He throws his hands up in mock defeat. "Okay. Okay. I said I was sorry."

She looks down at her lap for long moment before piping up again. "It's just… I really miss you." He nods silently, no longer smirking. "You talk all the time about what I did for you. About how I was your only friend when you came out of the ice. But… you were my only friend too."

He wrinkles his brow as he gazes down at her. "That's not true."

"Yeah it is." She locks eyes with him. "What other friends do you think I had?"

"You knew Clint and Natasha."

"Yeah, I knew them. And I liked them. But we weren't friends. In fact, the only reason we're at all close now is because you got me this job, here, with all of you."

He rolls his eyes as he reminds her for the millionth time, "I didn't get you this job. _You_ got this job because you're incredible, and Tony's smart enough to see that."

"Fine. Whatever. The point is, I didn't have anyone. For a long time. And then you were there. And I remembered how great it was to actually share my life with someone. You know, grab coffee or pizza and talk and laugh and screw around. Or have serious discussions about the current state of the world, international politics, the ever-looming threat of nuclear annihilation."

"One conversation, one time…" He throws his head back in exasperation.

"Talking you through the implementation of the A-bomb, laying out the ridiculousness of the Cuban Missile Crisis… Watching your reaction to things that I've just sort of grown up knowing… that was big for me. You're always talking about how I showed you things about this _new_ world, or helped you adapt. But _you_ taught me too."

He gives her a small nod, but the look on his face is one of skepticism.

"I'm serious, Steve. Seeing the world through new eyes, through _your_ eyes… that changed me."

"For the better, I hope."

She shoots him a smile. "Yes, for the better." She shakes her head and lets out a soft laugh. "More than anything, though, you made me see that, no matter how much I tried to deny it… after everything that happened… no matter how hard it might be to let someone in… I _need_ people in my life. If you didn't remind what it meant to have a friend, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have the friends that I do have… the _family_ that I do have. I wouldn't be in a relationship – God, am I in a relationship?" She crinkles her nose up as she thinks to herself.

"You're just now realizing that?" he asks with a raucous laugh.

"No," she utters unabashedly. Then, "I don't know. Maybe."

"Now who's the idiot?"

"You see? This is why I need you. I am in a… _relationship_ ," she says in a conspiratorial whisper. "How am I supposed to realize these kinds of things on my own?"

He continues to chuckle as he says, "You really are an idiot."

"Can we just call it dating? Or fucking?"

Steve cringes. " _No_."

"Well _relationship_ is freaking me out. I'm not saying that word again."

He leans down and whispers in her ear, " _Relationship_."

"Stop it."

Steve lets out one more small laugh before his tone gets serious. "Bucky told me what happened at Christmas." She looks up at him with a quirked, questioning brow. "He said he told you he loves you. And you said you love him."

Tessa lets out a long, drawn-out sigh and collapses further into the soft backing of the chair. "Yeah. But…" She leaves the thought unfinished, stilling for a long moment before shaking her head absently. She looks up at him and smiles. "Will you go for a run with me tomorrow?"

"I will." He gets up and offers her his hand, heaves her up out of the chair. "But I'm getting up at five, so you gotta be ready early."


	3. Firepower in a Tight Little Body

"Ah, perfect," Tony calls out as she enters the common room. "Just the brilliant, beautiful, amazing person I was looking for."

Steve and Bucky both roll their eyes, neither moving from their statue-like stances, arms folded over their chests. There's an air of pre-mission nerves in the room, Tessa can feel it as she moves over to the counter. She shifts her glasses up onto the top of her head, takes in the slightly fuzzy faces around her. "Yeah, well, that makes sense considering you paged me," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose and blinking rapidly to bring things into focus.

"What's with the four eyes?"

" _Somebody_ ," she says, turning and scowling in Bucky's direction, "dumped my contacts in the toilet."

He merely shrugs in response. "Shouldn't have had them that close to the edge of the counter."

"Well," Tony starts, ignoring Bucky completely and clapping his hands together in preparation, "You'll need to find some new ones, cause glasses aren't gonna cut it tonight."

Her head shoots around to glare at him. "No."

"No? You don't even know what I was going to say," he whines.

But she does know. Because he had been preparing for these speaking engagements for weeks… no, months. And as much as it seemed like playful ribbing when he harassed her about coming along, she knew he was serious. "I'm not going on your little press tour," she tells him with a pout.

He waggles his finger at her as he begins to pace excitedly. "First of all, this _press tour,_ as you so incorrectly dubbed it, is very important to both Stark Industries and The Avengers Initiative – both of which employ you, if I recall." He turns on a heel and cocks his head in her direction, takes in her defiant posture, arms crossed angrily over her chest. He then looks just beyond her at the men to her right. "Second of all, you all look very cute right now."

Tessa turns to see that the three of them – her, Steve, and Bucky – are all lined up, standing in nearly the exact same position with squared feet and crossed arms. She immediately drops her hands to her sides and rolls her eyes.

"Hey hey," sounds from the hall in a far too chipper tone. All heads swivel to the doorway as Sam saunters in. "Sam Wilson, Avenger Intern, reporting for duty," he says with an exaggerated salute.

"You're taking Sam with you?" she asks, looking quizzically at Steve.

"Don't say it like that," Sam complains. "He knows I've got his back."

"I didn't mean… I just didn't realize you were going." She flicks her eyes over to Bucky, who's gaze is on the floor, hair falling to cover his face.

Steve knows what she's asking – _is Bucky okay with this_? He claps his hand on his friend's shoulder, causing him to look up and regard the captain quickly before turning to meet Tessa's eyes. "We're a little shorthanded," Steve says as Bucky gives her a pained smile.

"Which is why I _paged_ you." Tony grabs an apple off the counter and meanders over to the sink to rinse it, muttering to himself as he goes. " _Page_ , what is this 1997?" When he turns, everyone is watching him, some with more curiosity than others. He takes a bite of the apple and chews for a long, drawn-out moment, looking back out across the room. Then– _crunch_ – another bite, more slow, methodical chewing.

"What, Tony? What do you want?" Tessa nearly shouts.

He gulps down the fruit. "You're going with them," he says, pointing at the men behind her.

She turns to them and sees three very different expressions. Sam looks surprised, and legitimately confused. Bucky's trying to hide a knowing smirk, and failing miserably. He averts his eyes when she narrows hers at him. And Steve, good old Captain America, is wearing his game face, his expression the same one she's seen when he goes blathering on about mission objectives and combined responsibilities. He wasn't questioning Tony's declaration at all. To him, it seemed like this was a forgone conclusion.

She turns back to Tony, mouth agape. "Uh, no."

"Uh, yes." He sets down the chewed-on apple and moves to stand directly in front of her. "Barton and Romanov are off doing… I don't know whatever they do. Thor is somewhere over the rainbow bridge. I have to go to Munich for a _speaking engagement_. And I'm taking Bruce with me for scientific support."

"Does he know that?"

"He will. Point is, you're needed. Time to suit up, kid."

"Tony," she says, voice slow and deliberate. "I am not an Avenger."

"Neither are they," he tells her, tossing his hand in the direction of Bucky and Sam. "Not really, anyway."

Steve steps forward, and she can practically hear the _Battle Hymn of the Republic_ play in the background as he stands tall and stoic before her. "We need you, Tess. This mission is time sensitive. It can't wait for Nat or Clint to get back. We need to go tonight."

"Then tell Tony to skip his _engagement_ , or at least leave Bruce behind."

Tony shakes his head. "Not gonna happen. Bruce won't go in the field without Romanov. They've finally got this lullaby thing down." He turns to face her. "And we've got over half a million dollars sunk into this project that's being unveiled tonight. _Tonight_. Potential investors are counting on me."

"Seems pretty selfish of you, when there's such an important mission that needs you."

He scoffs. "You've got more firepower in that tight little body of yours than all of these idiots put together. Seems pretty selfish of _you_ to refuse to help them."

"He's right, Tessa," Steve chimes in.

Tony leans over the counter. "About which part… the firepower, being selfish, or having a tight little body?"

He closes his eyes, mentally begging a higher power for patience. "The… firepower." He turns to face Tessa. "I know it's a lot to ask. I know you don't like doing this. But we could really use your help," he says in a low voice, pleading puppy dog eyes boring into her.

She breaks away from his gaze and looks over to Bucky. He gives her a crooked smile. "I wouldn't mind seeing what you can do," he tells her.

She lets out a long sigh. "What's the mission?" she asks in a tone that most assuredly makes it clear she's not sold yet.

"A cartel in southern Mexico kidnapped a diplomat and his family," Steve says.

Tessa crinkles her brow. "And that's the Avengers' problem how?"

Bucky chimes in next. "They're French nationals. Our military won't get involved because they're not US citizens. French military won't get involved because they're… French."

Steve dramatically rolls his eyes. "The family has been residing in Vancouver, so France isn't considering them citizens. And neither is Canada."

"And now I'm even more confused about how this landed on us."

"The wife is an old friend of Senator Kline," Tony interjects. "He's the kid's godfather. And Senator Kline is a dear old friend of Fury. Or he's someone Fury owes money to… unclear. At any rate, Maria Hill already promised that we would… diffuse the situation." He turns to address Steve. "Remind me to fire her, by the way."

"So we're going to Mexico to free a French-Canadian family from a drug cartel," she deadpans. "Neat."

"The _we_ means you're in, then?" Steve asks with a cautious smile.

She throws her head back in exasperation. "Shit. Fuck," she breathes out.

"Ooooh, hey. You kiss Tin Man with that mouth?"

"Yes, Tony, I kiss him all over with this mouth. Every inch of –"

Tony claps his hands over his ears. "Lalalalalalalalala! I can't hear you!"

"I can," Bucky tells her. "Go on."

She turns back to him and they share an amused look, much to the chagrin of the others in the room. Shaking her head, she swivels back and takes hold of Tony's arm. "Get me a suit already."

He drops his hands from his ears and clasps them around her wrist, a giant smile overtaking his face. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear those words come out of your mouth," he says, hurriedly dragging her off.

"We meet in an hour in the conference room to lay out the strategy," Steve calls after them. "We need to be wheels up by 8!"

Once they're gone, the three men each exchange glances before breaking off in silence. It was going to be a long night.


	4. Redirecting Bullets

The debrief only lasts about an hour, the plan seeming fairly simple. "It's a basic hostile extraction," Steve tells them all, as though that's supposed to mean something to her.

She raises her hand. "Non-military personnel requesting clarification, sir," she says with more than a hint of sarcasm.

He rolls his eyes rather dramatically. "We go in, fight the bad guys, and get the family out."

"Yeah," she drawls. "I kind of assumed that was the plan. What do you guys do in here for hours on end if it's not _planning_ a mission? Are you just hiding away, playing Call of Duty or something?"

"I don't know what that means," Steve tells her as he starts to pull up multiple screens at once.

The center of the table is alight with various holograms when Bucky leans over and whispers to her, "Stevie's very thorough. If a plan is what you want…" He leans back and indicates the satellite images and redacted official files on display before them.

As it turns out _very thorough_ is a bit of an understatement. The hour they spend going over mission details is very possibly the most chock-full-of-information-she'll-never-remember hour of Tessa's life. And she went to medical school. But everyone seemed to at least have an idea of what they needed to.

The missions she'd done with the X-Men – and frankly it feels wrong to refer to them as _missions_ as they always seemed more like random pop-up battles or peace-keeping initiatives – were very different from this. For one thing, their mission planning sessions usually consisted of Logan and Scott arguing about the best way to get there as everyone else watched in annoyance. Winging it was more their style. Maybe it was because they had powers that, for the most part, were difficult to counter. Maybe it was just because none of them had ever been in the military, let alone led soldiers into battle. Whatever the reason, the fighting style that had been bred into her stood out in rather stark contrast to that of her current cohorts.

"Here," Bucky utters absently as he hands her a 9mm. He'd been loading every nook and cranny of his suit with weapons while Tessa stood nearby, leaning on the wall of the jet, waiting not-so-patiently for them to get the show on the road.

She glances down at the gun in his hand, but makes no move to take it, her arms still crossed over her chest. "No thank you," she says simply.

He seals up a hidden pocket near his ankle where he just tucked away another small dagger before turning to face her with a confused look. "What do you mean _no thank you_?"

She pushes off of the wall as Sam sneaks by and she can't help but check out his flashy new wings. Tony just can't stop himself from innovating and upgrading everything that the team uses. It almost makes her wish she went into engineering or robotics instead of medicine. "Hm?" she mutters, turning her attention back to Bucky. "Oh, yeah. I don't need that."

"Yes you do," he says definitively as he takes hold of her hand and places the handgun in it.

She turns it over in her hand, gives it a little bounce to feel the weight of it. "I really don't," she says shaking her head and extending her hand back out to him. "It's heavy," she says absently, holding it out for him to take.

"It's a 9-mil," he says confusedly.

"Okay."

"You've never held a 9-mil before?" he asks her, as though everyone in the world has surely used a gun at one time or another.

"A 9-mil? No." She reaches out and takes his metal hand, deposits the gun into it just as he had done to her a moment before. "I've never held any gun before."

Sam's the one who speaks next, whipping around to face her. "You've never held a gun before?" He turns to find Steve, who's up in the cockpit, punching in coordinates. "Steve!" he calls out. "Do you hear this?"

"You can't be serious," Bucky says, voice low and disbelieving, mouth agape.

She shifts her stance and pulls at the tight almost leather-like fabric of her suit as it suctions to her shoulder. "No, actually, I did go skeet shooting once. I think. Maybe I dreamt that…" Her thoughts begin to wander as she snakes her hand down in between the suit and the top of her shoulder. "Flame retardant is nice, but he could've made this a little bit more… malleable," she mutters to herself. The suit makes a slight popping sound as her fingers work beneath the fabric. "Is it too tight?" she asks Bucky. "It feels tight."

He simply continues to stare at her, dumfounded.

"Steve," Sam starts as the captain makes his way over. "She doesn't know how to fire a weapon," he says, voice more serious than she's ever heard it. "Did you know that?"

"She's fine. She doesn't need a weapon," he tells Sam, slapping him on the shoulder. "Now, if we're all geared up, let's do this."

Tessa moves to take a seat as Steve heads back to the cockpit. Sam and Bucky are left lingering in the back, matching looks of horror on their faces. "But," Sam murmurs, "She doesn't have any gear."

000

The group moves in under the cover of darkness, dense tropical forest flanking the compound on every side. Bucky is able to rather quickly find a safe spot on higher ground where he can see over the walls and into the courtyard. He sets up two high-powered rifles, just in case.

Sam sets out to do some recon, but he's limited on how lose he can get as floodlights are strategically placed at every corner of the compound. "I can't get a great view," he says, his voice filtering through their earpieces. "But if the layout's the same as what was in the plans, then you two need to head for the southeast corner. It should be easier to get over the wall there."

"Negative," Bucky replies as he scans the area with his scope. "I'm blind to that corner."

"I thought you found a good spot."

"I did find a good spot. You're choosing the one area blocked by overgrowth." The very clear annoyance in his voice makes Tessa chuckle despite herself.

"Sam," Steve pipes up, "If we head in through there, do we have a clear path to the hostages?" The hostages _should_ be in a small interior room just off of the main kitchen, which is buried at the very center of the compound.

"I can't tell for sure," he says, dialing into the new tech in his visor as he goes in for another flyby. He can't see actual bodies from the angle he's forced to fly at, not with the way the roofs meet. So he switches over to infrared to search out heat signatures.

"I don't like this," Bucky mumbles across the comms.

"You worry too much," Tessa says as she carefully navigates the terrain just behind Steve, methodically stepping into the giant footprints he leaves in the soil.

"Yeah, man," Sam lets out. "They've got this."

An odd grumbling sounds through the earpieces, and Steve and Tessa share a quick look and a laugh. "How long you think it'll be before he shoots Sam down?" Steve asks.

"Five minutes, tops."

"You know I can hear you, right?" Sam questions as he swoops down just above them.

"Try not to antagonize the sniper," Steve says, his voice returning to the all-business captain. "What do you see?"

"You should be good," Sam tells them. "Two guards at the corner. Take them out and you've got a clean path to the courtyard."

"That courtyard's filthy with hostiles," Bucky intones, his voice calm and low as he continues his monitoring. "Even if we can distract some of them, you'll still probably have to fight your way through. I'll take out as many as I can when you come up."

"Only take someone out if you have to," Steve directs. "No unnecessary causalities.

"Steve," he argues, words brimming with irritation, "There are at least fifteen guys in there and they're all packing heat. Mostly Kalashnikovs, but I see at least two Uzis. _Uzis_ , Steve. They're not gonna let you just punch your way through."

"Just use discretion," he tells him in a huff. Then, "We're moving in."

The plan is to get in and out in no more than five minutes. Ideally, unseen, but unless they can manage a distraction big enough to get _everyone_ out of the courtyard surrounding the house, and also clear out the house itself, that was unlikely to happen. That being said, a distraction of some sort is exactly what they need.

Sam sets down just outside of the exterior wall on the north end of the compound. He hunkers down next to some trees, just far enough away from the floodlights to remain cloaked in darkness. "I'm ready when you are," he says.

"I feel like I'm going to regret this," Tessa mumbles as she commando crawls to the compound. Between the black suit and her dark hair, she's pretty well hidden. But in addition to the two guards inside the wall at this corner, there are two armed men patrolling from a balcony that runs around the third floor. If the light hits her right as one of them glances down, it's all over.

"Don't worry," Steve says through the comms, still hanging back in the trees as she snakes closer. "I'll be gentle." There's an unmistakably playful quality to his voice, and it in no way eases her concerns.

"I've heard that before," she whispers, positioning herself about two feet out from the wall.

"Hold," Bucky mutters as he keeps watch on the guards in the balcony. The moment they disappear around the southwest corner, he says simply, "Go."

Tessa pulls herself up into a tabletop position and Steve sets off at a full run from the tree line. She closes her eyes and braces herself, and a small terrified squeak resounds through the comms as Steve zooms in. He bounds off her back, using the step she provides as leverage to make it to the top of the wall. He lands like a ninja, completely silent, and neither of the two guards below look up.

He's just out of the light, but the men on the balcony will easily be able to pick him up – and pick him off – when they come back around the corner, so he's got to move fast. He leans down over the wall, extending his hand as low as it'll go and he nods at Tessa. She's already about twenty feet back, readying herself to run full speed and at least _try_ for a flying leap. She manages to get just high enough to grab onto his fingertips, but her feet lose purchase and quickly slide off the wall.

Steve's grip is solid. He grasps her hand, holding tight, even as her body slams into the wall. He cringes and tosses a glance back behind him to see if the guards heard anything. But the wall is so solid that her relatively small frame barely made a sound in the collision. He hauls her up and takes just a second to steady her on the wall before finding his target. He drops down on top of one of the guards and puts him in a sleeper hold. The other turns to him, gun raised and ready to fire.

Without warning, the man drops. His body going limp and collapsing to the ground as though all the energy had just been drained from it. Steve looks up at Tessa and sees her sitting atop the wall, hand outstretched toward the prone man, a hint of blue sparks emanating from her fingertips.

"Thanks," he says, dropping the now unconscious man from his hold and moving over to her. He opens his arms and she drops down into them.

"No problem," she returns in a nasally voice. Blood is gushing from her nose and she's blinking rapidly, trying to regain focus as she pinches it at the bridge.

"I hope you're moving," Bucky says with a sort of calm urgency.

Steve takes Tessa's arm and pulls her over to an interior wall where they'll be hidden from the guards above. "You okay?" he asks, hissing in pained solidarity as she slowly repositions her nose. There's a long grind followed by a sharp crack, and she drops her head to his shoulder for just a moment to try and regather herself.

"Solid," she mutters into him, her breath hitching.

"What happened?" Bucky asks, previously calm voice now peppered with concern.

"We're good," Steve replies simply. "Sam, we're ready for you."

"Copy that."

An explosion is heard from the northern side of the property. Steve and Tessa huddle close together along the wall as shouts ring out from inside the building. They feel a breeze blow past them and look up to see Sam swoop down to land on the exterior wall they just came over. He points in the direction of the explosion, directing them to move through the path leading to the center courtyard. Steve squeezes Tessa's hand in a silent _you good?_ She returns the gesture, and the two start out along the path.

"We've got five remaining in the courtyard," Bucky's voice filters in through their earpieces.

"I can handle five," Steve whispers.

"No you can't," he replies, watching and waiting for them to turn the corner. The minute he sees them in the periphery, he begins taking shots, nothing but a slight hiss emanating from the silenced rifle. He's got two down by the time Steve's actually in the courtyard, and he takes out a third while the captain disarms the other two men in rapid succession.

Steve looks back at the fallen targets. "Damnit, Buck, I told you I had them."

"If one round got off, the rest of them would turn back and be on you in a minute flat," he defends from his position on the hill. "Just get moving."

"Who's giving the orders around here?"

"Sorry," he counters sarcastically. "From my vantage point, it seems like a good idea for you two to get moving, _sir_."

Steve shakes his head and chuckles as he turns back to Tessa. "You know what to do?" She nods. "Just let me know if you see anyone coming my way."

Steve's on his own once he enters the house. They're down to two minutes for the extraction, and that should be plenty of time provided the layout is as expected, the hostages are where they think they'll be, no one catches him off guard as he moves to them, and they're all mobile and capable of following his lead out the rear of the compound. So really, two minutes may well be next to impossible.

Tessa maneuvers out of the courtyard and around to the south side of the building where they plan to rendezvous for extraction. Bucky has a mostly clear view of that side, but he's more focused on peering in the wall of windows as Steve makes his way through to the center of the home. "You look clear," he tells him as he stares down his scope.

"Shit," he hears Tessa mutter through the earpiece. He turns quickly to get her in his sights, and he sees a crazed looking man barreling towards her, rifle raised. Bucky panics and without taking proper aim, fires a single shot.

He misses completely – "Damnit" – and watches as the man collides with her. She gives a swift kick to his shoulder as they awkwardly go down, and his AK goes flying. For a brief moment, Bucky's filled with pride. But it's short lived. He watches as the assailant elbows her in the face, and he hears her pained grunt sound out over the comms as she fights back.

They're just a tangle of body parts now, so he knows he can't get off a good shot. He's about to tell her to stand down, thinking that if she stops fighting maybe the man will sit upright and he can take him out. But before he can, the guy rolls off of her and scurries over to his felled rifle. He moves into a blind spot – "Shit" – where he's partially hidden behind a row of pillars. Tessa pulls herself up and darts after him. "Wait!" Bucky calls out, knowing he'll lose her back there too. "Get him out so I can get a shot."

But she doesn't get a chance to modify. She skids to a halt, stopping just between two pillars. He has a clear view of her, which means he also has a clear view of the muzzle of the AK-47 that's pointed directly at her head, so close it's nearly resting in her hair. He feels himself panic, those few seconds stretching out into a _million_. He's desperately searching for a shot, but there's nothing. He can't find the target at all. All he can see is Tessa kneeling, gun at her head. He hears her let out a small, strained chuckle and his heart leaps into his throat.

 _Bang, bang!_ Two shots in rapid succession, fired right into her. His breath catches, heart stops.

"What was that?" Steve's voice filters through the earpiece. "Report!"

Bucky moves the sight around, desperately searching for Tessa. He stills on blood pooling out from behind the pillar, moves the sight hesitantly, just barely, and sees the man's seemingly lifeless arm on the ground. "I'm good," he hears her say, not an ounce of fear to her voice.

Sam chimes in, and Bucky can see him swooping down from where he'd been perched on the roof. "Did you see that? Did anyone see that?!" He lands beside her and pulls her away through a separate doorway, fully aware that the gunshots will bring more commandos out of the compound. "That was… what did you do?"

Bucky can no longer see them, but he can almost hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Just because I've never fired a gun doesn't mean I can't use one."

"She can redirect bullets," Steve says sternly. "Now can we get back to business?"

Bucky, still barely breathing up on his hill, slowly moves his rifle back to the house to search for Steve. Just as he gets the sight pointed at the door, he sees Steve open it and peer slowly around the corner. There are two armed men quickly approaching from the rear. "I've got you," Bucky says as he takes aim. Two quick, solid shots and they're all clear.


	5. Buzzing

The extraction ends up taking almost eight minutes instead of the intended five. But all three hostages are safely evacuated, and aside from some bumps and bruises – and a broken nose and near heart attack – the team is no worse for the wear. "Let's call that a success," Steve says as he peels off his helmet and heads for the cockpit.

Tessa's bent over in the back, digging through the medical supplies as Bucky comes up behind her. He hands his packed-up rifles off to Sam, who takes them without objection and goes to put them away in the lockers at the front of the jet. Bucky doesn't say a word as he kneels down next her, laying his palm on her shoulder.

"There's morphine, but no fucking ice packs," she mutters. "Who put this kit together?"

He reaches around behind the box that she's digging through and opens a small freezer, pulls out a soft, blue ice pack. "Here," he says, leaning back on his heels as he hands it to her.

She turns to him, brow furrowed both in confusion and frustration. It takes her a second to even recognize what he's offering. She reaches out with a shaky hand and cautiously takes the pack from him. He leans across her and starts piling the medical supplies back into the box, keeping out some gauze and tape. When he turns back to her she's leaning with her back against the wall, eyes are closed with the ice pack covering most of her face.

"Need any help?" he offers shyly.

She drops the pack and blinks at him. "It's broken," she says, staring at him with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

He gives her a pained smile. "Yeah, looks like." He holds up the gauze and tape for her to see and she shrugs her shoulders and leans forward.

"Don't use too much tape," she tells him as he gently lays a folded square of gauze below her still-seeping nostrils. "I'm just going to have to redo it when we get back."

He presses the tape into either side of her nose and cringes when she flinches in pain. "I hope you know _you're_ not redressing this when we get back." He folds over another square of gauze and gently pats at the thick split in the skin at the bridge of her nose. "You're gonna need a few stitches," he tells her.

"And you think I can't do my own stitches?"

"Baby," he breathes out, "after tonight I'm not sure that there's anything you _can't_ do."

She lets out a long, deep sigh. "I'll have Caroline take care of it," she says, referring to the PA on the med team. She sets the pack back in place and lets her eyes fall shut again.

He moves around so that he's by her side, leaning against the wall with her. His gloved metal hand lays on her knee and gives a little squeeze. "I'm proud of you," he whispers to her. Then, smiling to himself, "I really didn't know what to expect. And when you were out there with that…" He stops and shakes his head. "It scared me to death. But you more than held your own."

"Held my own," she repeats, her voice both nasal and a little sharp. She doesn't move her head off the wall, doesn't remove the ice pack, doesn't open her eyes. "I killed a man."

Bucky's fingers tense on her knee and he turns to look at her. "You defended yourself," he says simply, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Another sigh, this one cracking at the end. "I didn't need to kill him."

Steve's voice sounds from the cockpit, "You guys good?" And Tessa drags herself up from her spot against the wall and over into a seat near the middle of the plane. Sam crosses over to her and reaches around to help buckle her in.

"Thanks," she mutters through the ice pack.

He gives her a sad sort of smile. "You did good tonight," he intones. "I know it can be hard, but –"

She throws up a silencing hand. "It's not the first time I killed someone, Sam." Her words are clipped and harsh, and he can tell immediately that they're marking the end to a conversation, certainly not the beginning to one. So he gives her a soft pat on the shoulder and quietly moves up front with Steve.

Moments later she can feel Bucky's presence next to her as they prepare to take off. But he says nothing. She can sense his nervous energy. "I'm fine," she mutters.

"That was convincing."

She reaches her hand out next to her, blindly patting around the seat, then his thigh, in search of his hand. He lets out a small smile as he takes hold of her fingertips, and she twists her hand around in his grip to give him a firm squeeze. "I just need to… decompress," she tells him.

He brings her hand up to his lips and lays a soft kiss on her fingertips. They smell like copper and when he looks down he sees that they're stained a deep red and brown from pinching her nose for the last half-hour trying to stanch the flow of blood. It sends a chill down his spine. "You're shaking," he utters absently, noticing how her fingers tremble in his grasp.

"Yeah," she replies, leaning her head onto his shoulder. "I'm buzzing."

His brow furrows. "Buzzing?"

"In the beginning… when we first jumped the wall… I dropped a guy." She slowly removes the ice pack and blinks heavily a few times before gingerly touching the dressing on the bridge of her nose.

"Stop it," he says, batting her hand away as she tugs at the tape. She frowns like a small chided child. "What does _buzzing_ mean?" he asks her again.

"I took on his energy. Basically. And that doesn't really _go_ anywhere. So when I do that… I feel like I'm buzzing. I just need some time to come down."

He nods. "Okay."

She turns to face him, looks him directly in the eye. "I really didn't need to kill him," she says suddenly. "The other guy… I could've dropped him like the first. I just… didn't." She closes her eyes again, leans back, and pulls her hand from his grasp. "I just didn't," she repeats solemnly, wringing her fingers together in her lap.

He's silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. Then, "Redirecting bullets, though…" He lets out a small chuckle. "That is pretty…"

"Jealous?" she asks with a lilt.

He nods, not that she can see him, the ice pack laying over her eyes. "Very." He reaches into her lap and lays his hand over both of hers, forcing her to stop worrying her fingers. It takes a moment, but he can feel her body begin to relax next to him. "That extra energy," he starts, heady whisper in her ear. "We could maybe put it to good use…"

She barks out a laugh, the ice pack dropping from her face as she sits upright. "Right now?" she asks turning to him. He raises a single brow at her and quirks his head in the direction of the bathroom at the rear of the plane. "You wanna join the mile high club with _this_?" She indicates her bloody face, bruised and swollen eyes, nose packed down with gauze.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I'll focus on the rest of you," he says, eyes falling down to grace her body. "For the record, that suit is _definitely_ too tight. And I like it."

She laughs once more, deep and hearty, before curling into him. He smiles as she lays her head on his chest. "Maybe I'll let you peel it off of me when we get home."

"If you're gonna make me wait that long, I won't care if you _let_ me or not," he says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

The flight home is fast and uneventful. Every once and a while, they hear some laughter coming from up front as Steve and Sam shoot the shit. They seem to be in a relatively good mood, and that beaming sort of energy helps calms her. As does Bucky's sense of relief and accomplishment… and peace. By the time they arrive back at the tower, the buzzing has all but left her system.

"It's late," Steve says as they file out of the hangar and into the long hall. "Let's debrief tomorrow."

"Read my mind," Sam says with a yawn. "Can I crash at your place?"

Steve looks to Bucky, who's got himself draped over Tessa, his arms wrapped tightly around her from behind. She giggles as he tightens his grip and tells his friend, "Do what you want, I'm not coming home tonight."

Steve rolls his eyes and chuckles as Sam lets out an " _ooooo._ "

"First thing." He points sternly at the couple, his words strict despite the light smile on his face. "Be in the conference room at 0700."

"Stop talking military," Tessa complains as she manages to pull out of Bucky's grasp. She turns around and walks backwards so she can face the men as she says, "I'm going to the med floor to get some rhinoplasty." The moment she swings back around, she nearly collides with a giant who turns the corner a bit too fast. "Ooomph," she breathes out as her hands brace herself on his broad chest.

"Hello friends!"

The men all stop short as they take in the scene before them. "Thor?" Steve asks, surprised.

"Lady Doctor," the blonde god exclaims, his huge hands coming to rest over hers as they sit on his pecks. "What has happened to you?!"

As he speaks, Clint and Natasha saunter in as well. "Had some fun, I see?" Clint intones.

Natasha comes around the other side of Thor and gently peels Tessa off of the man. "Did you seriously go on a mission without me?" she asks, taking the brunette's chin in her hand and turning her face to inspect the damage.

Tessa shakes her off and looks back up at Thor, whose handsome face is still showing enough concern to send a shot of electricity through her. _A god indeed,_ she thinks to herself as she connects with his deep blue eyes. "Steve threw me against a wall," she tells him with an exaggerated frown.

Thor's stare levels Steve. "You harmed this lady?" he asks, disbelieving.

"I… That's not…" he stutters out as Sam snickers next to him. "She slipped."

Nat cocks an eyebrow at him. "That's right up there with, _she walked into a door_."

He gives her a terribly unamused look. "What are all of you doing here?"

"The captain did not harm you?" Thor asks in a low tone meant only for Tessa.

"Of course I didn't _harm_ her," Steve says with more than a little irritation. Then, again, "What are you doing here?"

Nat turns to face him, hands on her hips. "We're here to suit up." Then, turning back to Tessa, she asks, "Wanna have some more fun?"

* * *

 **Note:** I'm not going to get _too much_ into Age of Ultron here, just FYI. We've all seen it... we know what happens. So be prepared for some skipping around in the next chapter or two as we move through that story line.


	6. Revels

"You're lucky Helen was here," she snaps at Tony as he enters the med room. He hands a green drink to Clint, who's still lying back on the table as the portable regeneration device heals his torso.

" _I'm_ lucky?" he says, grinning at her.

She turns on a heel and stares him down, thrusts a pointed finger in his face. "I told you when you first assigned me here, I am _not_ a clinician."

"You're doing great," Clint tells her, the pain meds making his voice just a little lighter and a little more enthusiastic than normal.

She gives him an incredulous look. "If Dr. Cho hadn't been here to demo this… this… thing," she says, waving her arms to indicate the contraption in the center of the room, "you'd be dead."

"Was that a threat?" Tony asks, clearly amused by her anger.

"I'd have been fine," Clint says as he sucks down his juice. "You'd have saved me just like you did before."

She closes her eyes and tries for a deep, cleansing breath, which is surprisingly easy to do now that her nose is completely healed – _thank you Helen for demonstrating the device's effectiveness on me_. "You would have needed surgery. I am not a surgeon."

"You dug that bullet outta me just fine," he says, referring to their adventures in Minsk a few years earlier.

"I dumped some vodka on your arm and dug around with my fingers until you passed out from the pain."

"But eventually, you got the bullet out and I was saved."

"There," Tony chimes in. "See? You're a hero. The greatest doctor we could ask for." Dr. Cho enters the room and quietly slides over to Clint to check her machine's progress. "And now that we have this fancy-shamncy… thing, you don't have to worry about doing surgery. Or _not_ doing surgery."

"This is still a prototype," Helen tells him softly. "We know that cellular regeneration is possible with the cradle, but how much… how far this technology can go, we don't know the answers to that yet."

"Yeah, yeah. Now that we're working with U-Gin and we've got _two_ of the greatest minds on this," he says, waving his hand to indicate both Helen and Tessa, "it's only a matter of time before we revolutionize the medical field."

"It scares me when you get like this," Tessa mumbles.

"We'll have one in every trauma center by 2020."

Helen raises a single brow as she continues to evaluate Clint's vitals. "That's ambitious."

Tony's face splits into a wide grin. "That's my middle name."

"Really?" Clint asks, his face wrinkled in confusion. "I always thought it was Gary."

"What?" Tony turns on him as Tessa snorts out a laugh. " _Edward_. Why would you think it's Gary."

He shrugs as best he can in his current position. "You look like a Gary."

"Wait… so it's not _Ambitious_?" Tessa asks with furrowed brow. "You're middle name is _Edward_? How boring."

Clint slurps down the rest of his drink. "Gary would have been better," he mutters absently.

"Right," Tony starts, thrusting himself upright. "I hate all of you. Also, we're setting up for a party tomorrow." He turns to leave, calling out as he goes, "You _all_ will be there."

000

Tony's parties were, simply put, the best. Even the business affairs – the parties that required mingling with rich old men and straddling the line between bragging about scientific breakthroughs and giving away detailed research data – were designed to be fun. The drinks were always plentiful, the food exceptional, the decorations impeccable, and the guests companionable. There were many things that Tony Stark was great at, but in Tessa's estimation, throwing together last-minute celebrations was his greatest strength.

"Really?" Bucky sits idly on her bed as she explains this to him, her back turned as she rifles through her closet.

"Yes, really." She reaches in the back and pulls out a deep burgundy cocktail dress with thick straps and a triangular cutout in the back. "You'll have fun. I promise," she tells him, spinning herself around and holding the dress up for him to see.

He raises his eyebrows appraisingly, but seems less than impressed. Or convinced. She moans and thrusts the dress back into the closet. "I just don't like being around a lot of people," he tells her shyly.

"It's not _people_ ," she explains. "It's me. And Steve. And –"

"Everyone else, plus some."

"I don't want to sound like an asshole here…" She turns to face him, two more garments now draped over her arm. "But, get over it."

"Get over it?"

"Yes. Get over it." She flings the dresses onto the bed next to him and he has dodge the wooden hangers as they narrowly miss his face. She marches over, rather dramatically, and stands in front of him with her hands on her hips. "I didn't want to go to Mexico. But I did. I didn't want to take a day trip to Coney Island in the middle of January. But I did. I didn't want to do that _thing_ last week. But I did."

He reaches up and slips his fingers beneath hers on either hip. "I thought you liked that _thing_ ," he says with a mischievous grin.

She rolls her eyes and, bringing her hands to his shoulders, gives him a rough, playful shake. "That isn't the point!"

"Okay, okay," he relents, laughing as he pulls her to him. He wraps his arms around her middle and rests the side of his face against her ribs. "I'll go," he mumbles into her shirt.

Her hands are still resting on his shoulders when she says simply, "Thank you." She tries to push him away then, but he doesn't let go, too content in holding her close and listening to the steady beat of her heart. "James," she tries, when he refuses to loosen his grip. She digs her thumbs into his shoulders and tries again to push him away, wiggling her hips as she moves. "Jamie," she whines, smile perking the corners of her lips.

"No," he says, petulant quality to his voice.

"Uuuugh," she sighs, dropping her hands and stopping her struggle. Then, with a chuckle, "You're impossible."

He tightens his grip for just a moment more before twisting his face so that he's looking up at her. "If I don't have fun, I'm bringing you right back here. And we're doing that _thing_ again."

She presents her right hand to him, ready for a handshake. "Deal." He drops his arms from her middle, shakes her hand firmly, and lets her escape back to the closet. "Now go ask Steve if you can borrow something pretty to wear."

By the time Steve finally convinces him to wear the red button down instead of an old – and torn – sweater, and they make it upstairs, the revels are in full swing. He sees her immediately, but doesn't chase her down just yet. Instead he takes the beer Steve offers and half-heartedly listens to the rest of his friend's story as he watches her from afar.

She's talking and laughing with Natasha and Bruce, though Bruce doesn't look like he's having much fun. The man is bright red and ducking his face in obvious embarrassment as Tessa gets more animated. Whatever story she's telling the pair is greatly amusing the Widow. Not so much the doctor.

Bucky leans against the wall, continuing to gaze across the room. Tessa's wearing a tight black pencil dress that traces the lines of her body – from her knees up to the gentle cure of her hips, up alongside her ribcage. From his vantage point, he can see the shimmer of the gold zipper that runs from the base of her back to the base of her neck. And he's desperate to yank it down and peel the fabric back.

"Buck?" he hears Steve say. Swiveling back to his friend, he raises a questioning eyebrow. "Are you listening?"

"No," he says, shaking his head and taking a long pull from his beer.

Sam snickers next to them. "At least he's honest."

"I was telling you about the mission," Steve complains.

"Yeah, but we weren't there, so we don't care," Sam responds.

Bucky gives him a tired look – "I didn't say that" – then turns to Steve. "He doesn't speak for me."

"Okay, well –" he says, trying to continue with his story.

"Actually, now I am saying it," he tells him, raising a single, silencing hand. "I don't care." He pats his forlorn friend on the shoulder and makes a beeline for his girl.

He tries to skirt past Stark and Thor as he approaches the bar, but Maria Hill stops him before he can reach the other side where Tessa's standing. "Sargent," she nearly exclaims. "You're actually at a party. And all cleaned up."

She sounds impressed, but Stark is less than enthused when he mumbles something akin to, "That's cleaned up?"

"I was just telling them a War Machine story," Rhodes chimes in, obviously eager to try the tale out on someone new.

"Where's Tessa?" Maria interrupts before he can get started.

Bucky's about to point across the bar at her and then politely excuse himself, but – "Yeah, and Pepper," Rhodes says, "She's a no show?"

"And Jane? Where are the ladies, gentlemen?"

Stark and Thor make excuses for the absences, bragging openly about their better halves, while Bucky attempts to back up and move around the group unseen. But there are too damn many people at this party and he's penned in. As he turns to the other side in search of an escape route he hears Hill cough out what sounds like "Testosterone." When he looks back, she and Rhodes are eyeballing an opening in the crowd, hoping to sneak off as well.

"But Jane's better," Thor leans in and tells Tony.

Which prompts Maria to turn to him. "What about you, Sarge? You want in on this?"

He gives her a quick look, then turns his gaze to Tessa, who appears to be moving off into the crowd. "Sure." He clears his throat, finishes his beer, and sets the empty bottle on the bar. "My girl's a brilliant geneticist and the lead physician for Earth's mightiest heroes. She's beautiful and talented, smart and funny. _And_ she can deflect bullets."

"Wait, what?" Rhodes chokes out as Bucky finally finds an opening and steps out into it.

"And she's actually here," he tosses over his shoulder. "So I win."

Thor grins as he walks off. "I like him," he says with a small chuckle. "He's spirited."

"Like a horse you need to break," Tony mumbles.

He dodges through the crown, issuing mumbled apologies to those he bumps as he goes. "Tess," he says, reaching for her arm as she's about to head downstairs. "Hey."

She turns to face him, nearly tumbling backwards down the steps when someone accidently nudges her as she spins. He wraps his fingers tightly around her upper arm to steady her, and almost immediately winces, realizing he's grabbed her too tight. He tugs her to him and drops his hand, watches as she brings her fingers up to absently rub the red marks he's left. "I was wondering when you'd get here," she says with a smile.

"Sorry." He mumbles the word as he leads her off to a corner, then he gingerly touches her arm to inspect the blossoming bruises. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you're really fucking late." She glances down to her arm, then up at his worried face. "Oh… about keeping me from falling down the stairs?" She lets out a snort of a laugh. "Yeah, don't worry 'bout it." And she brushes his fingers away.

He takes in a deep breath. "I'm sorry I'm late too."

She's still all smiles when he looks up at her and it makes his heart catch a bit in his chest. "I was talking to Helen earlier," she starts, eagerly. "You would not _believe_ the kinds of things they're doing at U-Gen. She invited me out to tour the facilities and spend a few days getting to know the staff and actually _work_ in her lab." Her eyes light up like a toddler at Christmas and her voice rises in pitch as she continues. "I mean, I thought Tony was just looking into a new investment idea, like he always does. But this is… Well, look at my nose!" She pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and works it around. "Doesn't hurt at all! And no scarring!"

"Yeah," he says with amusement. "I can see that." He's glad she's excited, but the level of excitement seems a little crazed, especially considering that they've already spent most of the last two days talking about Dr. Cho's research and advances.

"And Clint. Did you see Clint?!" She twists around to try and find the archer in the crowd. Her balance is shot almost immediately, and she throws a steadying hand out to his chest.

He catches it and laughs as he steadies her. "How much have you had to drink?"

" _Psht_ , like two glasses of wine," she tells him, turning back to face him. "Or three. With Nat while we got ready." She furrows her brow. "Maybe four. I don't know."

He looks down at the drink in her hand. "And once you got here?"

"A few of these," she says, bringing the martini glass to her mouth. "Just a few."

"Just a few," he repeats, shaking his head.

"Ah ha!" Tony calls out as he saunters over to the couple. "Found your _girl_ , I see." He turns to Bucky and in a low tone says, "She's been blitzed for about an hour. Had to cut her off." Looking at back at Tessa and at the drink in her hand, he asks, "How'd you get that?"

"Natasha," she says, hint of challenge to her voice.

He hums in disapproval. "Well, guess that's what you get for being late to the party." He drops his hand on Bucky's shoulder, causing the smile to completely disappear from the soldier's face. "She's gonna start puking in, oh, about 30 minutes."

They turn their faces to Tessa in unison, watch as she downs the rest of her drink. "Probably," she mutters.

Tony smiles, wide and wily. "Still think you win?"

It's more like fifteen minutes before she barrels into the hall bath and blows chow all over the sink. Bucky flinches at the scene, but steps forward and holds her hair back all the same. At least he got her back to her apartment. When she finishes, he lets her hair down and she leans against the wall and slowly slides to the floor. "That was disgusting," he tells her as he turns on the water and starts to clean the sink.

"Sorry," she mumbles softly.

He raises the lid and the seat on the toilet and points at it. "Aim there," he tells her before heading into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

He hands her the bottle when he returns but she refuses it. "Boot and rally," she tells him tiredly. "I learned that in college."

"Out of curiosity, is _this_ the fun that you promised me tonight?"

She lets out a pained laugh. "You were late. If you'd been there sooner, you would've had fun."

"I can't get drunk, doll," he tells her, taking a seat on the cold tile across from her. "Not like this, anyway."

"Shame," she intones, slipping off a single high heel and slowly moving her foot into his lap. She traces the inseam of his pants with her toe. "You wore real pants," she observes. "Not just jeans."

"You told me to put on something pretty."

"Ha!" She throws her head back to laugh, banging it on the wall.

"Baby," he sniggers, moving over to her side and cupping the back of her head. "You're a danger to yourself."

She looks up at him, eyes red rimmed and glassy. Her face is flushed and the goofy smile she's wearing makes it's hard for him to suppress the laughter that he's trying to stave off. "I like you," she says dreamily.

"I like you too. Even if you smell like vomit."

She purses her lips and takes on a more serious countenance. "I'm going to throw up _one more time_ ," she tells him. "But then I'll be good. And I'll let you do that _thing_."

"I appreciate the gesture," he says. "But I think you should go to bed."

"That's what I'm _saying_ ," she teases.

"No," he says with a laugh. "You throw up again if you need to. Drink this water. And then I'm putting you to bed. To sleep."

She looks at him very seriously for a long moment before bringing her hand to his face, gently stroking his stubble-covered jaw. She tucks a few errant strands of dark hair back behind his ear and gives him a small, tender smile. Then she launches herself at the toilet and violently empties her stomach.

It may not seem like the best end to an evening, but they're the only people in the building who spend that night in bed, sleeping peacefully while the building shakes and shatters around them.


	7. Evolve

_"_ _We could really use you," he'd said. "I know how you feel about… fighting. But –"_

 _"_ _Steve," she'd responded simply, throwing up a silencing hand. "Let's go to find the crazy killer robot."_

What a mistake that was. It's not like she turned out to be particularly useful. Just like the others, she got mind-fucked by that science experiment in a dress. In fact, she was the first to go down after making the mistake of thinking that she could take the girl out on her own. In her defense, she probably could have if the other freak hadn't flown in at a million miles a minute and knocked her silly.

None of them were prepared. Not even a little bit.

And that… that… mind-fuck. What the fuck was that? Clint had called it mind control, but that didn't quite seem to fit. They weren't made to actually _do_ anything. It's not as though she had turned them into her puppets. They were just… mentally incapacitated.

It felt a lot like when Professor X would reach into her mind to help settle her – only this, of course, was anything but settling. But the _feeling_ was the same, an odd sort of tickle at the back of her skull, a push and a pull deep in her center. What she saw… it was a dream, but it was also reality. A vision? Sure, that's a better term, she supposed. But weren't visions supposed to tell you something? Weren't they supposed to warn you of something to come, or remind you of something you needed to remember? There was no portending… at least not for her. This vision just seemed to… hurt.

No one had said a word about what they experienced in their _visions_. Actually, most of them had said very few words at all since arriving at the _safe house_. And they all knew that it was only partially because an angry robot was hellbent on destroying the world.

"Hey," pulls her out of her reverie and she turns to see Steve looming beside her. "Are you gonna eat?" She looks confused for a moment, but when he sits down next to her on the porch – Clint Barton's porch, if you can believe that – she notices that he has a plate of sandwiches in his hand. He extends the platter out to her, and she shakes her head no.

"Get all that wood chopped?" she asks him with a put on grin.

He shrugs. "Most of it."

"Can you believe this is all Clint's?" she mutters, staring out into the open space in front of them. The sun was just beginning to set, the sky taking on a full array of pastel colors as it butted up against the trees in the distance.

"You knew about this, didn't you?"

She turns and sees him looking at her with a knowing smirk. "I knew he had a family. I never knew where."

Steve nods his head. "You didn't really seem too surprised when we got here. And Laura, she acted like she knew you."

She pulls her hair over her shoulder and begins picking at the edges of the long, thick braid. "We met once. Had dinner in Rome."

"Rome?"

"A second honeymoon," she says with a smile. "Laura always wanted to go." She lets out a long sigh. "I was in Milan. Clint set me up with a contract position with someone who worked in SHIELD's biomedical department. He said he wanted me to meet her. Laura, that is." She looks at him, squinting a bit at the setting sun behind him. "She's great, right?"

His lips quirk into a smile and he nods. Then they both turn to silently stare off into the distance. "Why did he tell you?" he asks after a few minutes.

"When we were in Minsk… he saw what I could do." She drops her head to frown down at her hands, begins pulling at her fingers, bending and working them in an uncomfortable way. "I begged him not to tell anyone. But I figured he would. SHIELD had starting keeping tabs on me as soon as I went into the system. _Monitoring potential threats_ , they called it. Me, my family, my friends and classmates. All of us who were… different. We were all _potential threats_." She pulls her fingers apart and actually sits on her hands, knowing it's the only way to keep from messing with them. "Anyway, Clint pulled me aside and showed me a picture of his family… his wife and kids. And he said, _We all have secrets, Doc._ "

Steve looks at her assessingly. "And you never told his."

"Of course not."

"And he never told yours."

She shrugs. "You think SHIELD would've trusted a mutant to do any kind of work for them? Think they would've asked one to treat Captain America?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye.

"But," Steve starts, suddenly confused. "Fury knows. He didn't know then?"

She shakes her head. "It wasn't until he asked me to come in to help you that they actually did a complete check – fingerprints, facial recognition, all that. That's when Nat found out too. Fury told her to keep an eye on me. When she told Clint, well, he almost blew a gasket. Told _me_ that they knew. Told Fury that I was cool, I guess. Told Nat that he trusted me…" She sighs. "He felt bad… terrible. He was the one who recommended me to Fury."

"Clint was?" he asks, surprised.

She turns to him with a crooked smile. "Yeah. You didn't know that?" He shakes his head. "He knew I was interested in the effects of the serum – from a strictly research-oriented perspective, not, you know, to replicate or anything."

Steve laughs lightly. "Yeah, I know."

She looks off into the distance again, watches as the sky grows darker by the minute. "He told Fury that he trusted me. He thought that'd be enough. That's what he said… when he apologized." A small chuckle escapes her. "He looked so guilty. And Natasha… I remember her saying something like, _I don't care if you turn out to be a shapeshifting polar bear. If Clint says you're good, you're good._ "

"A polar bear?"

"Something like that," she says with an amused grin.

"And you said they weren't your friends," he teases, bumping her with his shoulder.

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah, well… I still don't trust Fury," she says, tossing a glare over her shoulder and towards the farmhouse that the former director himself walked into less than an hour ago.

"Few people do," he counters. "Come on," he says, rising with a groan. "Let's go hear what the old man has to say."

She slowly rises to follow, wobbling when she gets to her feet. "Are you allowed to call people old?" she asks, leaning her hip against the porch railing for balance.

He reaches down and grabs a sandwich off the plate he'd been holding. "Eat," he orders as he hands her the sandwich and opens the screen door. "And technically, the man you're dating is four months older than me, so maybe you shouldn't age shame."

Three hours later and she can honestly say that she regrets eating that sandwich. Or maybe it was the two that followed. No one understands needing energy to function better than her – well, maybe _understand_ isn't the right word, as there's so much about her odd mutation that truly perplexes her. But as a doctor, at the least, she gets that you need to eat to survive. But if the jet hits one more air pocket, she's going to hurl into her lap. "And Tony just had this suit cleaned," she murmurs to herself, rubbing lines into the leathery fabric on her thighs.

"What?" Bucky asks from across the aisle.

She looks up and sees him staring at her with a furrowed brow. He's been tense since Africa. Well, they've all been tense. But his shoulders have yet to relax, and on his face lay a seemingly permanent frown. "Nothing," she replies, shaking her head and dropping her gaze down. She takes a deep, steadying breath in through her nostrils, closes her eyes, and tries to think of anything other than the way her stomach feels. "I might throw up."

He moves seats so that he's next to her, runs his right hand in soothing circles along her back as she rests her elbows on her knees. "Probably shouldn't have gotten so drunk the other night," he mutters.

Was that only two day ago? "Probably not."

"And you haven't slept since then."

"No one has."

"And I bet almost everyone here feels like they might puke too." She turns to look at him and he offers a small, reassuring smile. He hand snakes up to the base of her neck and she leans back into his touch as he gently kneads the muscles there.

"I can't believe we just let Helen go back to Seoul," she breathes out.

"We were supposed to know what was going to happen?"

"No." She pauses, twisting her head to roll out the muscles he's massaging. "But she's not like us, you know? She hasn't been through things like this before."

"Things like the end of the world?"

She snorts out a laugh. "Yeah, things like the end of the world. Or killer robots. Or alien attacks. Or Hydra, or SHIELD, or anti-human mutant conspiracies. Or anti-mutant human conspiracies."

"Those last two are new to me too," he says with a grin.

She twists in her seat so that she can face him. "Did you see her face on Sunday morning? Before she left to go back home? She was terrified. Traumatized." She shakes her head a bit, still maintaining eye contact with him. "He's coming for her. For the cradle."

"When you say she's not like us, you mean she's just a person, right?" His hand drops from the back of her neck onto her shoulder. "She's what? Normal?" Tessa doesn't answer, she just drops her gaze as if in thought. He moves his fingers to her temple and plays with the loose curls that sprung up after escaping her tight braid. "She's smart," he tells her, voice deep and firm. "She might not have _powers_ , but that doesn't mean she can't handle whatever it is that comes her way."

She shrugs. "Maybe."

He watches her closely, sees her forehead wrinkle, her brows scrunch together. "You gonna tell me what else is going on up here?" he asks with a small tap on her temple. She looks up, her eyes lost in confusion. "What are you thinking about?"

She twists around and then leans back into him. His right arm drapes around her and she takes his hand in hers and begins playing with his fingers. "It's the thing Bruce said… about Ultron. He wants us to _evolve_."

"Yeah?"

She scoots further back and he instinctively wraps his other arm around her, holding her close. She can feel his chin on her shoulder, his breath in her hair as she says, "We have evolved. Some of us." She stares down at Bucky's fingers, rubs firm lines into the calloused skin. "I think he's right. _It's_ right." She shakes her head. "Does that make me an asshole?"

His chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. "No, I don't think it makes you an asshole."

"To be clear, I do _not_ agree with his methods."

He laughs a bit more. "That's good."

She lets out a long sigh. "People… humanity… everyone's so afraid of change, of what _bad_ things it might bring. They forget about the good. Instead of embracing the possibility of something better, they shun what's different, cling to what they know."

"Fear is a powerful motivator."

"And everyone's more afraid than ever. Especially since New York, since the invasion. Even Hydra and SHIELD… fear. That's what Project Insight was really about." She feels him tense at the mention of the project. "How much worse is that going to be now?"

He lets out a tight breath and nuzzles her hair. "I don't know, baby," he whispers to her.

"It's true, though," she says, folding his fingers into a fist. "He's right. If we don't evolve, we die."


	8. Freaking Out

"I am not _freaking out_!" she shouts at the redhead before downing the shot of bourbon in front of her. She makes a pinched face as the brown liquid sets fire to her insides, then she holds out the tiny glass and shakes it, begging for a refill.

Natasha goes into the cabinet and pulls out two lowball glasses before settling in beside Tessa on the couch. She delicately folds her legs beneath her, leans forward to pour a few fingers into each glass, and hands one to Tessa. "I'm not judging," she says slowly as she leans back.

With everything that'd been going on lately, most of the team has been pretty damn frazzled. The world didn't end, which felt like a win. But a lot of innocent lives were lost when Sokovia was attacked. Jarvis got a body and became something… more, which everyone still seemed to be a _bit_ on the fence about. Ultron was defeated. And all of the Avengers survived the battle, some coming out the other side in better shape than others. But the recovery and cleanup had only just begun, and man was it going to be a _bitch_ to get through.

After Ultron and the other killer bots destroyed a good chunk of the tower, Tony had sped up the timeline on moving the Avengers' home base upstate. Which meant that almost everyone was having to pack up their lives and slowly transition into the half-finished space. Natasha knew it was worse for Tessa because she had to move an entire lab and get to work on designing the new med floor, which Tony only _just_ mentioned to her last week. And there was the more _personal_ issue of deciding on living arrangements in the new compound – which apartment layout to get, what view was preferred, the types of amenities, and of course whether or not to take on a roommate.

For as long as Nat had known Tessa – and that was, what, four years now? – she had never known her to actually _date_ anyone, not for more than a couple of months at a time anyway. But now she had a notorious assassin staying at her place nearly every night. And while they made no secret of their _affair_ , they never actually publicly admitted to being in a relationship, let alone being in love. Even though both were painfully obvious.

"So…" Natasha starts, casually drawing out the word.

Tessa just looks at her with a confused quirk of her head. " _So_ what?"

"Maybe you're not _freaking out_ , but you're obviously upset. _So_ …"

She takes a long, deep breath and leans back into the couch with her bourbon in hand. "I don't know. I'm just… stressed out."

Natasha lets loose with a small snort. "You thrive on being stressed out. You wouldn't know how to slow down and relax if someone put you into a coma." Tessa ducks her head and smiles a bit bashfully, knowing full well that Nat's words describe her to a tee. "So what's really bothering you? Because I feel like you've been… _off_ for a while now."

"Since Ultron, you mean?" she asks, sarcasm dripping.

"Yeah, since Ultron." Natasha shifts into the couch and purses her lips as she thinks of something. "Since the thing with Wanda, really."

 _Wanda_. There is that. Tessa had gone along with the Avengers to Africa in large part because of the enhanced girl who had the ability to manipulate energy. From the rather limited amount of data that they had at the time, she was confident that the girl's powers would be no match for hers. Turns out she was wrong. And Wanda was able to fry her brain just like the others.

"I hate that she's here," she mumbles into her glass as she finishes off the liquor.

Nat reaches over to hand her the bottle. "She's just a kid."

"A kid who tried to kill us and fucked with all our heads."

"Not Clint's." Natasha sips at her drink as she pulls at a loose thread on her yoga pants. "I think he's ready to adopt her."

"Good. He can take her home with him."

Nat gives her a questioning look. "You'd rather have her out in the world right now? With no one to help her hone her skills? She's dangerous."

"And we're going to make her _less_ dangerous?"

" _You_ could."

"Jesus," Tessa sighs dramatically. "You sound like Steve."

Natasha laughs. "Yeah, he said he was working on you."

"Harassing me, you mean?"

"He thinks you're the best one to help her, and honestly, he's right. Your abilities are so similar… no one can identify better with what she's going through."

"What she's going through?" She makes no attempt to hide the disdain in her voice. "She asked someone to experiment on her. She wanted _powers_ so that she could exact revenge."

"And now she has those powers and she doesn't know what to do with them. Look, I'm not 100% sold on her either. But she's here. She's trying to make up for what she did. And she could be a huge asset to the team."

Tessa gives a _psh_ and downs some more of her drink.

Nat gives her an assessing look, gazing intensely at her friend for a long moment. "What did she do to you?" she finally asks.

"What do you mean?"

"That day, at the base, she really fucked you up," she says, no question to her voice.

Tessa looks away as she replies, "She fucked all of us up."

"Yeah, but I think the rest of us kind of got over it." Tessa leans forward, reaching for the bourbon, and Natasha stops her, grabbing her hand when she wraps it around the bottle. "What did she show you?"

Tessa looks up into Nat's eyes, sees that she's truly interested in knowing, in helping. Natasha isn't exactly a gossip. She's usually more than content to be left out of other people's drama. So the fact that she's pressing her right now shows how much genuine concern the woman feels for her. "My sister," she says simply, falling back into the couch cushions.

"Did you see her die?" she asks without preamble.

Tessa shakes her head and squints as though she's trying to recall. "No. Not really. I just… saw her." She takes a long pause, a confused and almost pained look on her face. "It was that night, though. The night she killed herself. But…" She shakes her head again, this time her eyes are tightly closed like they're desperately trying to block something out.

"But what?" Natasha asks, extending her hand and slowly, softly beginning to stroke Tessa's arm.

When she opens her eyes, they're glassy and paler green than Nat's ever seen them. Maybe it's the bourbon. Maybe the lack of sleep and the abundance of stress. Maybe it's the thought of a long-lost sister that she _never_ talks about. "I wasn't there." She locks eyes with Natasha and repeats, "When she did it, I wasn't there."

"Okay," she says, encouraging her to go as she maintains the delicate eye contact.

"But in the… vision… I _was_ there. And I saw her." She shakes her head and huffs out a breath. "But in the mirror. I saw her in the mirror." She looks away quickly, almost seeming embarrassed by her words.

This time, when Tessa goes for a refill, Nat lets her have it. "You were twins, right?" She nods as she takes a long sip from her now half-filled glass. "Identical?" Another nod. Natasha leans back and sighs. "Well, that kind of makes sense, right? Our worst fears, our worst memories… that's what she called to the surface. It makes sense that you'd regret not being there, and that in this… dream –"

"No," Tessa interrupts quickly. "No, it wasn't like that. It was… I don't know how to explain it. I _was_ her. I _was_ Anna. And it didn't feel… weird or anything. It felt… real." A sudden shiver takes over her body. "I think…" but she can't quite finish the thought. Instead she shakes her head again and then shakes out her arms to rid herself of the chill that suddenly overtakes her body. "Never mind. Just… forget it." She looks up and takes note of the concerned look on Natasha's face. "Let's talk about something else. Can we talk about something else?"

Natasha changes her expression on a dime, going from worried frown to sly smirk. "Okay," she starts. "Are you and the soldier gonna make it official?"

Tessa rolls her eyes. "I'm not sure what _official_ means." She shifts in her seat, seeming antsy and self-conscious. "I think… it sounds like we might share an apartment. I guess _actually_ live together."

Nat finishes the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the coffee table. "You're okay with that?" she asks, voice thoughtful and sincere. "That's what you want?"

She shrugs. "It makes sense. He spends the night most nights anyway. It'd be dumb to give him his own place if he'd hardly even use it. And he doesn't want to keep living with Steve… he deserves his own space back."

She cocks a brow and gives a gentle _mm-hmm._ "And how does Steve feel about all of this?"

"Oh, mother Steve is very upset." Tessa nods dramatically.

"Is he?" she mocks.

"He told James that if he loved me, then he'd marry me and not make me live in sin." She takes one last sip and sets her glass down beside Nat's. "They haven't talked in two days."

"Damn. I did not know that." Natasha leans forward and takes Tessa's hand. In a low, serious tone, she asks, "Is he _making you_ live in sin?"

Tessa holds the eye contact for as long as she can before collapsing into a fit of hysterics. "Oh God," she says through the laughter. "Will you save me?"

Natasha chuckles softly, which is about as emotive of a laugh as she ever allows. "Sounds like Steve's already trying."

"It's dumb," she says lightly, shaking her head as the giggles subside. "I know it is. We're together all the time. He stays at my place all the time."

"You're completely in love," Natasha supplies. Tessa gives her an incredulous side eye. "You're not fooling anyone, _golubushka_. Sleeping with the man is one thing, but it's so obviously way past that. And it has been for a long ass time."

"I feel like I need wine to continue this conversation," she says, hauling herself up off the couch and heading into Nat's kitchen. She goes straight to the cupboard in the corner and pulls out two glasses before eyeballing the wine selection on the second shelf. "It's so weird to me that the Black Widow's taste in wine goes from sweet to practically Kool-Aid," she mumbles, mostly to herself.

"There's a Riesling in the fridge, you lush," Natasha shouts from the other room.

Tessa wrinkles her nose. "Of course there is." But her near disgust doesn't stop her from grabbing the mostly full bottle of wine from the refrigerator and pouring two giant glasses.

"You know," Nat starts, accepting the glass of wine as Tessa settles back onto the sofa, "Mixing bourbon and wine is rarely a good idea."

"I've done worse," she counters with a shrug.

Natasha raises a single brow as she looks at her friend with a smirk. "So… where were we?"

Tessa offers another shrug. "I love him, sure."

" _Sure_? That does sound like love."

"Feelings aren't the problem." She turns to face Nat, curling her leg up underneath her and throwing one arm over the back of the couch. She locks eyes with the redhead. "Relationships," she says, a sort of fear and awe twisted into her voice. "That's the part I suck at."

"Don't we all?" Natasha offers with a small smile. "We live strange lives here."

"Even before here," she says with a slow shake of the head. "I've always been… single minded."

"You're heading up the medical research lab for Stark Industries. You're the official physician of the Avengers. And you're not yet thirty. You don't get here without being single minded."

"A workaholic, you mean."

"How about dedicated? Passionate?"

She shifts again, seemingly uncomfortable in her own skin. "It's just… any other guy… I might've felt bad about not giving him my full attention, I _should have_. But I never really did."

"You've never been in love before."

"Oh no," she says, eyes blown wide. "I've been in love before. And it did _not_ go well."

Nat cocks her head to the side. "Interesting…"

"Not today, no," she responds to her friend's fishing. That's a _looong_ story that'll require more than a half a bottle of sugary Riesling to get out of her.

"Fine. But we _will_ come back to this."

"I've no doubt."

"Are you afraid to live with him?" Natasha asks, taking no time at all to transition back to the topic at hand.

"I don't know," she answers honestly. "Right now, he doesn't really have a place of his own. It's either he stays with me or with Steve. So even though he's usually at my place, it's easy enough to say that he doesn't really _live_ there with me. But if he _does_ actually live there… then it's… I mean that's…"

"Serious?"

Tessa nods, then stops short, crinkles her nose, and begins to shake her head. "It's not just that. Or…it's not that simple. It's not like I'm afraid of commitment, per se."

"Really?" Natasha asks with a smirk.

Tess rolls her eyes. "I just mean, I don't have a problem with intimacy. Or committing to just one man. Or being in love… even though none of that has gone well in the past." She sips her wine and stares off into the distance, focusing on nothing. "It's… I don't know… reliance. Dependence?"

"Explain please."

"I can love James. I can be _in love_ with James, and I can be intimate with him. Maybe even stay in the same apartment with him. But that's different from being… _with him_."

"How do you figure?"

"Because… I don't know. Because if we're together, really _together_ , then I depend on him and he depends on me. And we're…"

"A team?"

"Yes. I guess so."

"And you don't want to be part of a team."

"I didn't say that."

"That wasn't a question." She shifts so that she's sitting upright, and she levels Tessa with a confident stare. "When Clint first met you, you were freelancing for Genetech. Before that you were investigating – on your own – genetic anomalies. Then Clint convinced you to help out with SHIELD, which you would _only_ do on a temporary, contract basis. Tony hired you as an independent contractor. And I know how hesitant you were to take the position as the head of the tier 1 med team. I _know_ how long it took Tony to wear you down."

"So you're saying I'm not a team player?"

"Not at all. I was with you in Africa. And in Sokovia. I was part of the debrief on Mexico. I think you're great on a team. And in case you've forgotten, I've seen your SHIELD file. So I know that you were an integral part of another pretty big team for quite a while."

"Yeah, well…"

"Did the X-men fuck you up that bad?"

She shakes her head emphatically. "I don't talk about that." She pauses for a moment, takes in Natasha's words and says, "But… maybe it left me feeling like I shouldn't be part of a team. Yeah. Maybe."

"Well _maybe_ it's time to get over that."

"Did Tony bribe you to try and get me on the team?"

She smiles and leans forward. "Tessa, you're already part of the team – part of the Avengers team _and_ , I'm pretty sure, part of the Sullivan-and-Barnes team. Whether you like it or not."

She nods gravely and takes another drink, and the two sit in silence for a long moment. "I don't want to disappoint him," Tessa says softly.

"You think he'll expect something different if you live together?"

She shrugs. "Right now, we're just… I don't know… we're happy together. But – God, this is going to sound so cliché – we've never _labeled_ it."

Natasha snorts out a laugh. "Labels are for children. You don't have to put a name to a relationship to be happy in it. You're adults. If you're happy together, then just be together."

"That may be the most naïve thing I've ever heard you say."

Nat merely shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm a genius and you're just too threatened by my intellect to admit it."

"Maybe. Doubtful."

Natasha sets her mostly empty glass down on the coffee table and leans in toward Tessa. "You want to know what I think?" Tessa raises her eyebrows and nods. "I think that he knows you – _gets_ you – in a way that no one else ever has. And I think that _you_ , weirdly, get him too. And all of us in the tower think you both are disgustingly, adorably enamored with each other. And I don't think that'll go away because you work late and miss dinner a few nights a week, or because he leaves the toilet seat up, or because one or the other of you drank the last of the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, or whatever other 'living together' issues may come up."

"I got yelled at for putting the empty OJ carton back in the fridge just last week."

"See?!" She tenderly lays her hand on Tessa's knee and levels her with an intense stare. "I think you're nervous because you're overthinking it. And if you just let go a little, which I know is crazy difficult for you, then you might just end up being happy despite yourself."

Tessa drops her eyes and feels a hot blush slowly creep up her neck. She knows Natasha's right. "I think…" she starts slowly, "that you're a really good friend." She looks back up at Nat and sees her eyes soften a bit. "And I think that we should go out and get you laid. Because you clearly have forgotten what it's like to be with a man."

"That might piss Bruce off."

Tessa scoffs. "If he doesn't make his move soon, he's gonna piss _me_ off. And he wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

* * *

 **Author's note:** I refuse to let Bruce leave the team. So in MY world, he stuck around after Ultron.


	9. Night Terror

Sleep hadn't come easy for a while now – not since Ultron nearly destroyed the world and the weird Sokovian girl scrambled their brains. What a shit week that was.

But he did come to realize a few things within those strange, exhausting, life-altering 72 hours. Being open about his and Tessa's relationship – with everyone, in a way they never really had been before – felt amazing. Knowing she might be in danger – that feeling, which started for him a few days before the near-apocalypse when she almost got shot in the head in Mexico, and was simply dredged up again when she agreed to follow the rest of the Avengers into battle – was the absolute worst, most terrifying feeling in the world. Seeing her use her powers – watching as she sucked all of the energy out of a flying killer robot just by touching it, witnessing her drop men where they stood with an odd wiggle of her fingertips – _that_ made him feel… incredibly turned on. And facing the end of the world with her – standing atop a floating city that was about to fall and result in a cataclysmic, life-ending event with her by his side – made him feel oddly at peace.

If he were to be completely honest, he'd have to say that it all happened really freaking fast… falling for Tessa, that is. It seemed like they fell in love before they even had a chance to become an item _._ Or, what was it people said nowadays? A thing? He hated that phrasing. _A thing._ He may not have known what exactly they were to one another – boyfriend and girlfriend sounded so juvenile, lovers so crass – but to call what they had a _thing_ … it made his skin crawl. He'd settle for just calling her _his_.

He had known before the _end of the world_ that he loved her. But what he quickly figured out after the near-death experience was that he was totally and completely gone for her.

The one thing that he was still struggling to come to grips with in the weeks following the showdown with Ultron, though… the thing that was still messing with his head and keeping him from sleep… the _one thing_ he still couldn't quite suss out was the way he felt about that damn vision that Wanda put in his head.

From what he gathered from everyone else, their visions were either horrifying or, at the very least, extremely uncomfortable. They played off of everyone's greatest fears or worst memories or biggest heartbreaks. But his was just… normal.

He was in Brooklyn again – _his_ Brooklyn, the way _he_ remembered it, not the way it is now – but the war was over. He had never fallen from that train, never died nor wished for death at the hands of Hydra. He was just a GI come home. He had a girl that he loved. She sat beside him at Sunday dinner, talking and laughing with his sister as his ma watched, a sly smile on her face. When he helped his mother with the dishes later, she handed him a small box and told him he did good. When he opened the box, he found his ma's wedding ring, the small diamond in the center twinkling in the low light of the kitchen. Even now, weeks later, his chest fills with warmth from the memory of that oh-so-real-seeming night.

There was nothing upsetting about his vision. Nothing frightening. Nothing sad. The only thing that bothered him about it was that the woman he was going to marry was a slight, shy-looking blonde with deep chocolatey eyes. Not his Tessa.

He's had several dreams since then where she appears, this mysterious blonde. Sometimes she just shows up and walks past him. Other times the dreams are nothing but the two of them fucking in a dark room with an oddly familiar smell. _My bedroom_ , he thinks. _It's my childhood bedroom_.

Tessa had refused to tell him what she saw in her vision, and she never asked him about his, clearly desperate to forget the whole thing ever happened. But part of him is grateful for that. How could he tell his girl that what he experienced in those few moments was the life he always wanted and could never have with her?

When he confided in Steve, his friend had told him that his vision took place just after the war too. And Peggy was there with him. And, for a brief moment, it was everything he'd wanted in life also. "Maybe our minds knew that the worst possible thing we could be shown were the lives we were meant to have but never will," he'd said.

Their talk was oddly reassuring at the time. Since his arrival at the tower, his slow integration into the world of the Avengers, he'd thought that his biggest fear was going back to Hydra. His greatest regret was killing for Hydra. His worst memories, being taken and trained and tortured by Hydra. But maybe Hydra wasn't really the biggest monster in his closet. Maybe his fears and regrets were much simpler, more commonplace. Maybe what he was most angry about, sad about, still not entirely willing to accept was the fact that he could never go home. He could never see his ma and his sister again. He could never fall in love with a quiet, cute blonde and give her his mother's ring and live happily ever after like he'd always assumed he would. Maybe he was more human than he realized.

That thought was precisely what shifted his dreams from the awkward and unwelcome to the entirely out of control. Over the last year, he'd had countless dreams of his days with Hydra. His therapist told him it was his mind's way of coming to grips with that part of his history. And the more stressed out he was, the worse the dreams became. But since being with Tessa, since staying the night with her that first time almost 6 months ago, he hadn't had anything that he would have characterized as a true nightmare. Of course, his therapist and Tessa both argued with him about how he classified his dreams. Because clearly if you toss and turn and wake up in a cold sweat, unable to sleep for the next several hours because of the images that play in your head the moment your eyes close… you've had a nightmare. But in Bucky's mind, as long he was able to wake up from them and know where he was, _who_ he was, it wasn't that bad of a dream.

But the moment he realized that there may be more to fear and regret than just being the Winter Soldier… it was as though his unconscious mind lashed out at him, throwing him memory after memory of the awful things that he did and the horrible monster that he was.

The first night it all came back to him he'd been at Steve's. He woke with tears streaming down his face and Steve straddling his chest. "You were pacing around, screaming in Russian," Steve told him. "I had to tackle you," he'd said with a small, sad smile.

He didn't tell Tessa about what happened, and he made Steve promise not to either. And he refused to stay with her for the rest of the week, wanting to have at least a few nights in a row without incident. But tonight she had said she missed him and begged him to come over and watch a movie with her. She'd been working so hard lately, and she was so stressed out, and he felt _so_ bad for her. And he missed her too… so damn much.

She fell asleep on his chest almost immediately, and he was going to leave after tucking her in bed and depositing a chaste kiss on her forehead. But then she shifted beneath him and reached up to wrap her hand around the back of his neck. "Don't go," she muttered groggily.

"I have to," he said more to himself than to her.

She sat up then and gave him an appraising look, her heavily lidded eyes dark with concern. She moved her hand up to his face, stroked the stubble that lined his jaw with the pad of her thumb, and then pulled him in for a deep, forceful kiss. They made love. Twice. And as he lay there with her naked body pressed firmly against his side, running his fingers through her hair as he listened to her steady, sleepy breathing, he drifted off without a second thought.

 _He enters the quiet, dark hotel room and stalks over to the bed. There, amid the rumpled sheets lay a small blonde woman. She seems so familiar, though he isn't sure how or why. This sort of thing happens to him often… noting a resemblance that he's unable to identify. His handlers tell him to ignore these thoughts – it's just his weak mind's way of trying to overpower his will and his training._

 _The woman is alone. Where was the man he was supposed to find here? Where was his target? He looks to his right and sees a sliver of light coming through the crack at the bottom of the closed bathroom door. As he approaches, he hears the water running. He waits. It's only a breath of a moment before the light turns off and the door slowly opens. Clearly the man didn't want to wake the sleeping beauty in the bed. His flipping off the light works to the soldier's advantage as he's able to back seamlessly into the shadows as the man reenters the room and moves toward the bed._

 _The target's barely two strides out the door when the soldier tightens his grip on the blade he's been holding. His metal arm reaches out, a brief flash of moonlight reflects off of it as his fingers take hold of the man's trapezius and dig in. At the same moment, before the man has the ability to gasp and scream out in pain, the soldier thrusts the knife into his back, pulling it out with a sickening pop. The suddenly collapsed lung keeps the man from crying out, and the soldier's hold on his shoulder keeps him from falling. He stabs again, this time further to the left, content in the knowledge that the six inch blade will almost certainly pierce his heart from this angle. The man sags and he tightens his grip around his shoulder, feeling the tissues beneath his metal fingertips pull apart. He reaches around quickly and slashes the blade across the target's throat, the cut so deep that the man's head nearly tumbles from his body._

 _That's when he hears a sharp intake of breath and the shuffling sound of silken sheets. He looks up and sees the blonde woman staring at him with big, dark, terrified eyes. She has the bed sheet pulled up to her agape mouth and she's shaking uncontrollably. He waits for her to move, readies himself to grab her as she runs for the door. But she doesn't move, so terrified she's frozen in place. He sheathes the blade and moves slowly toward the bed, never breaking eye contact with the petrified woman. Still, he thinks, she looks so familiar. But that doesn't matter now. He cannot let a witness compromise the mission._

 _He climbs up onto the bed… one knee, then the other. He reaches out, surprised and a bit disappointed that she makes no move to escape him. He wraps his metal hand around her small throat, feels the muscles in her neck clench, the slight vibration as she tries to choke out a scream. His fingers tighten._

 _For the first time, she moves, tries to pull away from him. The sheet falls and pools around her naked body as her arms flail forward, into his metal arm in an attempt to break his grip. When that doesn't work, her hands claw at the metal of his wrist, her fingers then moving up, urgently work to peel his from her neck._

 _Still the vibrations come from her throat, working their way up, trying to form meaningful sound. He can't help but be a little curious about what she's so desperately trying to say. He loosens his hold just slightly, just enough to allow her to voice her dying words._

 _"_ _Please," she ekes out. "Jamie."_

 _His fingers reflexively tighten again at hearing the name._ Jamie? _His mind begins to spin. Why_ does _this woman seem so familiar? He looks down at her, eager to study her features closer, determine just who she is. But when he does look down at the woman before him, he sees that she's not blonde at all. She has long, wild, dark waves. Even in the sparse moonlight, he can see that her eyes are lighter than before too, a blue or green, perhaps. She releases his metal fingers and instead brings her hand up to his cheek._

"No," he hears himself say as the world comes crashing back down on him. He unclenches his metal hand, pulling away immediately and falling off the edge of the bed as he scurries backwards. _Just a dream_ , he tells himself as he presses his eyes shut and curls into a ball by the side of the bed. _Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream_.

But he can hear an awful gasping and retching sound from the bed. And a pounding on the door from outside. "Bucky?" Is that Steve calling his name? "Buck!" It gets closer and more urgent. The light comes on and he hears, "Oh God. Oh no," before his mind shifts into darkness.


	10. I Froze

"I'm fine," she says again, shoving Bruce's hands away. Her voice is rough and gravelly. She turns to look at Steve. "Where is he?"

"Don't worry about him," Bruce grumbles before Steve can respond. "Worry about yourself." He moves aside the hospital gown that they made her put on – _how humiliating_ – to attach another electrode.

"Stop it," she protests, making a move to pull the sticky disc off of her chest. He simply slaps her hand away like she's a small, crabby child. "I don't need this."

"Tessa," Steve argues weakly from the corner of the med room. "Just… let him do what he needs to."

"He doesn't need to –"

"Stop being such an idiot!" Bruce shouts at her. His eyes are fiery as he looks down at her, his face scrunched up in anger. Steve moves forward and lays a calming hand on the man's shoulder, and he takes that as a cue to pull in a deep breath and shake out some of the nerves. "You're a doctor," he says after a moment, his voice more relaxed. "Don't be an idiot."

"I don't think she ever lost consciousness," Steve says as he takes a seat at the foot of her bed.

"I didn't."

"That's good." He flashes a pen light in her eyes, first the right, then the left, and he actually has to use his hand to hold her head in place, she's so adamant about turning away. "Petechiae," he says, dropping the light and taking a step back.

Tessa closes her eyes and leans back into the pillows. She feels Steve shift down by her feet. "What does that mean?" he asks.

"The strangulation caused blood vessels to pop in and around her eyes."

"Please don't call it that," she says in a small voice, still holding her eyes shut.

"I want to get a CT to assess the level of damage."

"You think it's bad?" Steve asks, a slight tremble to his voice.

"It's hard to know how bad an injury like this really is. There could be soft tissue damage, vascular damage. Her airway could swell and completely close up. She could have a stroke, suffer a life-threatening arrhythmia."

Tessa's eyes shoot open and she sits up quickly. " _Jesus_ ," she squeaks out. "You're gonna scare the shit out of him."

Bruce looks down at her and casually pushes his glasses back up from the bridge of his nose. "Good." He turns to Steve. "Don't let her leave. I'm going to go set up the CT," he says before heading out of the exam room.

Steve drops his face into his hands, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "I knew this would happen," he mumbles through his open fingers.

"Shut up," she says, her voice sounding even more hoarse. "You did not."

He sits up straight and looks her in the eye. "He had a nightmare the other night, a bad one. I couldn't wake him up. He came at me and I had to tackle him to the ground."

She stares at him for a long moment, quietly assessing the sad, guilty look on his face. "How…" she starts, shaking her head in bewilderment. "How could you not tell me that?"

"He didn't want me to. He didn't want you to know." He sidles closer to her, and slowly slides his hand over hers. "He talked to his doctor about it. He said he would at least." He casts his gaze down and wraps his fingers around her hand. "I'm so sorry, Tess. I'm so, so sorry."

She doesn't pull away, which he's actually surprised about. But when he looks up, he can see that she's silently seething. There are tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, which, now that he sees them in the light, are clearly bright red and bloodshot. He squeezes her hand tighter and she locks eyes with him.

"Where is he?" she asks again.

"Down the hall."

"Is he okay?" she asks, her voice breaking on the last word.

Steve gives a lazy shrug. "I doubt it."

Her gaze is fierce as she says again, this time through gritted teeth, "Is he okay?"

Steve rocks back, releasing his hold on her fingers and bringing both of his hands up to scrub at his face. "I was watching this old movie when Friday interrupted and said that I needed to go to your apartment. She said that Bucky was having an _episode_. I thought I'd find him pacing and yelling in Russian like the other night. Or maybe, I don't know, tossing and turning and screaming in his sleep like he did when he first got here." He looks up at her and gives a small, sad smile. "I didn't think…"

"He _was_ tossing and turning," she says. "That's what woke me up. He didn't make a sound, though." She tries to clear her throat and immediately winces.

"Do you need some water?" he asks, jumping up. "Can you have water?"

She waves her hand dismissively and swallows hard. "I said his name and touched his shoulder, that's all. I could feel it, though," she says quietly. "I could feel the _bad_ energy… it was everywhere. I don't know…" She shakes her head and tightly closes her eyes. "I should've done something then, when I felt it. But he just… sprung up… so fast. And then…" The tears begin to leak out of her still shut eyes and he quickly moves to her side and gathers her in his arms. "I'm sorry," she cries into his shoulder.

He rubs soft circles into her back as he shushes her. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"No," she says, barely even a whisper. "I didn't do anything at all."

He pulls away and holds her at arm's length, moves one hand up to tuck some hair behind her ear. "None of this is your fault," he tells her, his own eyes now red rimmed as well.

"You don't understand." She scrubs the tears from her cheeks with a harsh, almost violent motion. "I told him he was safe with me. I told him I'd never let anything like this happen. And instead I… I froze."

"You were attacked in your own bed, Tess, in the middle of the night, half asleep" he replies incredulously. "Of course you froze."

She shakes her head. "No. I might not have been totally with it, but I was awake. And I could've done… something."

He gazes at her for a long moment. "We can't be expected to be superheroes every minute of the day. Sometimes we're just people. We act and react like people." She nods and drops her head heavily onto his shoulder. "Just… don't talk anymore, okay? Don't take this wrong way, but the sound of your voice right now makes me want to cry."

"What's the right way to take that?" she ekes out.

He simply cringes and wraps his arms around her once again.

000

It actually doesn't take much convincing to get her to stay on the med floor overnight. For one thing, by the time they get the CT results, it's already almost two in the morning and all she wants to do is sleep, no matter where it may be. For another thing, Steve – who only left her side long enough to check on Bucky and make sure he was doing all right – parked it in a chair conveniently placed between her and the door and gave her a _go ahead and try it_ look.

He wouldn't tell her what Bucky said or where he was or why he wasn't there with her. He only said, "He's upset. He needs a little time." And then he shushed her once more and ordered her to get some sleep.

Bruce had been coming in to check on her every hour on the hour, but when she's woken by the steady stream of sunlight beating through the window late the next morning, neither he nor Steve are anywhere to be found. Instead Wanda is seated next to her, silently reading, of all things, The Grapes of Wrath. "What are you doing?" Tessa asks her, her voice grating. She cringes at the sound, as well as the physical pain that comes from croaking the words out.

Wanda startles in her seat and looks up sheepishly. "I thought… I wanted to…"

Tessa shakes her head and leans back into the pillows, shutting her eyes against the harshness of the sunlight. "I meant, why are you reading that?"

"Oh." She drops her gaze to the book in her hands. "Clint told me I should learn some American history. It's quite sad." She looks up and sees that Tessa is now turned toward her, regarding her with a rather severe look on her face. "I was worried when they told me what happened."

Tessa wrinkles her brow. "You were worried about the Great Depression?"

She laughs. "I was worried about _you_."

The doctor doesn't answer, but her expression does soften as she takes in the timid-looking young woman before her. The two were slowly building a sort of bond. They had met up several times in the past couple of weeks for what they simply called _sessions_. The meetings – at first awkward and filled with a fundamental distrust from both sides – began at the behest of Steve, who decided that the best way to really get a handle on what Wanda could do would be to have someone with a similar skillset evaluate her.

In the beginning, it was mostly just the two of them sharing small details about their powers – how they manifested and in what ways. But it quickly grew into full-on demonstrations of their abilities. Much to everyone's surprise, instead of turning into a sort of superhero pissing contest, their sessions turned into workshops where they were able – and willing – to learn from one another.

As one of Strucker's only successful experiments, Wanda had received a lot of training. But Tessa was able to open her eyes to new and different ways to use her gifts, as well as different ways to _think_ about them. Her powers didn't have to be weaponry. They didn't simply supply ammunition for a fight. They could also provide comfort for others and be used to aid people who are in need. She could calm someone's mind just as easily as she could corrupt it, and that simply wasn't something that Strucker had ever allowed her to realize.

And there were things that the younger woman was able to show the doctor too. Tessa, for all of her raw power, had never been able to actually delve into someone's mind. She could sense their energy, but reading thoughts or seeing memories or even just empathizing on a deep level, those were things she'd always left to other mutants and never even thought about trying herself. But with Wanda's help, she was starting to see that there may actually be some new tricks she could learn as well.

Perhaps the main reason that the two women were able to get past their initial distrust (and, frankly, distaste) for each other was that they realized they shared something utterly unique. It wasn't just their ability to manipulate energy, but their ability to _understand_ it. In addition to giving her these strange powers, Strucker's experiments also enabled Wanda to see the world differently. It was almost like going from a black and white realm into a technicolor dream. Actually, no, it was like going from pure darkness into light. It was wonderful and beautiful and overwhelming and terrifying. And no one else could see it. Except, she now knew, Tessa.

"Don't say you're fine," she says now, looking at Tessa's tired face, her bloodshot eyes. She glances down at the deep purple bruises that encompass almost the entire right side of her neck, four jagged lines, each one caused by a finger on the hand of the man she loves. "I know you're not," she lets out slowly.

"Neither are you," she points out with a raised eyebrow. Each can sense the tense energy in the air. Each can sense that the other is working to hide pain, fear, regret. There's really no sense in either of them trying to conceal something from the other. "What is it?" Tessa asks, knowing the girl is more than just worried about her.

Wanda shrugs before bringing a finger up to her eye to delicately wipe away a tear. "Steve said that James had been having nightmares since I… messed with his mind."

Tessa shakes her head adamantly. "He's always had nightmares. It's Hydra. Not you."

"Steve said that too," she replies with a small smile. "But he said things have been different… since then." She pauses and looks up and into Tessa's eyes. "He asked me to… go into his head."

"No," she interrupts, her gravelly voice strong and stern.

"I would never do it without James' permission," she sputters out quickly. "Or yours."

"He's had enough people in his head over the years. He doesn't need another."

"I only want to help," Wanda tries, looking down at her hands.

"I know. But… we'll work through this. It'll be fine."

Wanda smiles and lets out the smallest of laughs. "You know, I don't actually sense any uncertainty when you say that."

"That's because there isn't any. Not really."

"There is some fear, though."

She looks around the room and over to the monitor that she's hooked up to. Her heart rate is normal, pulse ox at 98. It hurts to speak and swallow, but she isn't having any trouble breathing. "I need to talk to him."

"Bruce said you shouldn't be talking at all. It'll upset your vocal cords, and they need time to heal."

"Yeah," she breathes out, knowing it's true, but not really caring. "Can you find me some clothes?"

"Um…"

"What time is it?"

Wanda opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off by Steve as he saunters into the room. "It's after 11. And I have clothes for you." He drops a folded-up pair of jeans and a sweatshirt onto her bed. "But," he starts, raising his eyebrows at her, "You're only allowed to leave if you agree not to speak for the next 24 to 48 hours, not to eat any solid foods, and not to leave Nat's apartment – where you'll be staying – other than to come down here for any necessary treatment."

She looks at him incredulously for a long moment before saying, in a nearly inaudible squeak, "That's bullshit!"

He throws down a tablet that has a stylus attached and gives her a _go on_ look as he smiles and folds his arms across his chest. She picks it up and sees that it's open to a translator program. She hurriedly scribbles onto the pad as a light, feminine voice sounds from it in a British accent, " _Total fucking bullshit._ "

The smile drops from Steve's face. "Nice," he tells her.

"It does sound less crass with that accent, though," Wanda snickers from his left.

Steve ignores her giggles, and Tessa's triumphant smile, and instead says, as though he's issuing orders to the troops, "Two days – no talking, nothing but liquids, _no work_." She frowns deeply. "Get dressed," he says as he turns to leave.

"Wait," she ekes out, causing him to turn on her with an admonishing frown. She rolls her eyes and writes something down quickly, and stares at him as the tablet reads, " _Where's James? I want to see him._ "

Steve nods patiently. "I know you do. But he's still pretty upset."

"So am I," she says, earning her another reprimanding glare.

He sighs deeply, picks up the clothes and drops them in her lap. "Get dressed and Wanda will take you up to Natasha's. Get settled in. Drink some hot tea." She rolls her eyes so dramatically he has to stifle a laugh. "I'll get him to come down. Just… be patient."

"Hey," she croaks as he moves to leave. He spins on her and points to the pad almost angrily. " _Where's my underwear?_ " the tablet asks him in its soft voice.

"I couldn't go through your… things," he says, taken aback by her question.

She scribbles something down again and holds the tablet up as it says, " _You saw me naked last night. You can't bring me a bra and panties this morning?_ "

Wanda holds her fist to her mouth to try and stifle her laughter. Steve just turns a bright shade of red as he says, "You had a sheet around you. I didn't… I didn't _see_ anything." Both women nod placatingly at him, and he quickly turns to leave.


	11. I Need You

He never does show up at Natasha's. Not later that day. Not that evening. Not the next morning. By the second afternoon of being held prisoner in Nat's apartment, Tessa feels like she's going to explode. Which may be, in part, why she reacted the way she did when Tony stopped by – smashing the creepy British tablet to pieces in front of him. Though that was largely about him uttering the words, "He's right to stay away," when she lamented still not having heard from James.

"I'm not saying Tony was right to say that to you," Natasha states calmly as Tessa continues to angrily pace a rut into the floor in front of her. "I'm just saying that he feels that way because he cares about you."

She turns on her heel and stares the redhead down, her glare so intense that even the Black Widow is a bit intimidated. But before she can say a word, chide her friend for taking Tony's side, Clint chimes in from across the room. "I don't think he was wrong at all, actually," he says as he nonchalantly tosses some more popcorn into his mouth. "He might've said it in an asshole way, because, you know… Tony. But he's right."

Natasha raises her eyebrows at her friend, a silent _what the hell are you doing?_ look that she's surely given him countless times before.

"Come again," Tessa says with a forced sort of composure as she stands still and places her hands on her hips.

Clint cringes involuntarily at the sound of her worn voice. When he arrived about an hour ago, eager to settle in and watch some movies to "take Tessa's mind off of things," as Nat had put it, it took everything in his power to keep from losing his shit.

Natasha had called him that morning to tell him what happened the day before. She'd said that between Steve hovering, Bruce going into full-on doctor mode, and Tony being… Tony, Tessa could use another friend. She'd also told him that, "She looks a little rough, so be nice." He had expected her to be a bit worse for the wear. Being choked by a supersoldier surely would leave a mark. But Nat had been so casual when she said, "She's fine. Don't worry," that he was not at all prepared for what he saw.

He had not expected to see her with burst vessels so bad that almost the entire white of her right eye and a good portion of the left would be blood red. And while he assumed there'd be a nice bruise, he did not expect to see her neck almost completely covered in dark blues, purples, and greens. The raised welts that rose from the colorful backdrop being the size and shape of fingers. And he certainly had not expected to hear that gravelly, rasping sound come from her mouth, nor to see the pained look on her face every time she swallowed or choked out a few words.

He sets down the bowl of popcorn and approaches Tessa, places his hands on her upper arms, and looks her directly in the eye as he says, "He almost killed you." She jerks herself away and takes a large single step back. He throws up his hands in a gesture of appeasement as he continues. "I'm not saying he meant to do it. But he did it. That's a lot to deal with, Doc. Hurting someone you love, even if you didn't mean to, _especially_ if you didn't mean to and _never_ would have in your right mind… it's a lot."

"He happens to be speaking from experience," Natasha pipes up from her perch on the couch.

"That's right," Clint nods, dropping his hands and taking a step closer to Tessa. When she doesn't make a move to back away, he lifts one hand to her shoulder and ducks his head a bit to capture her downcast gaze. "After Loki's whole mind fuck, it took me a while, a long while, to come to grips with the fact that I wasn't to blame for the things that I did. Not entirely, anyway."

"Not at all," Natasha corrects from behind.

"But he's already doing that," Tessa whines. "That's what he's been dealing with since he got here. Learning not to blame himself for what Hydra made him do."

"Good. That's good. Then he'll have a head start on making it through this too."

Natasha gets up and moves over to the pair. "Steve said that he had a really long therapy session yesterday. So he's trying to figure things out."

"But you gotta let it happen at his pace," Clint says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. When an over-the-top pout comes across her face, he asks her simply, "Do you love him?" She folds her arms across her middle, hugging herself tightly, tightening her grip before nodding. A few fresh tears fall from her eyes. "Then let him take the time he needs."

000

She's finally released from observation – house arrest, as she and Nat had been calling it – later that evening. Natasha sticks around for a bit after taking her back to her apartment, mostly because she just looks so damn lonely and pathetic. But it's only a matter of time before Tessa tells her to stop the pity hang and get the hell out. She has to get to bed anyway, there's a lot to do tomorrow to make up for all of the work that she missed. Nat just rolls her eyes, reminds her that she really only missed one day of work (which isn't entirely true since she typically works on the weekends too). Plus, Tony already told her to take off this coming week, though he must've known that she'd never actually do it.

She does manage to stay clear of the lab the next day, but that's only because Tony had put it on lockdown to prevent her from entering. But she's still able to put in a full day in her office, compiling reports and finalizing plans for the new med center at the compound.

The compound… she pulls up the plans for her new apartment – _their_ new apartment – and looks them over once more before signing off on them. James had requested a bigger kitchen. She had asked for a balcony coming off the living room. Tony put a large soaking tub in the hall bath, all so he make a joke about a rusty arm.

They were set to move in at the end of the month. If they were still planning on moving together, that is.

"Fuuuuck," she moans , dropping her head to the desk with a loud thunk. She lays there for several minutes, enjoying the feel of the smooth, cool wood on her forehead. She can feel a migraine beginning to bloom around her eyes.

All at once, she notices a rather dramatic shift in the energy of the room. She feels the air thrum with a mixture of sorrow and regret, and fear. Amid the terrible pangs of bad energy, she feels him, the signature that is just pure James. Sensing all of it mixed up together is enough to very nearly break her heart. "I can feel you brooding," she mumbles into the desktop.

She hears him shuffle forward, assumes he was probably looming in the doorway before. "You're not supposed to be working," he says softly, his voice sounding so painfully hesitant.

She slowly lifts her head from the desk and watches as his face contorts with an odd mix of shame and rage when he sees her eyes. She threw on a big woolen scarf this morning before heading out, all too aware of how her neck looked. Thankfully, it was 40 degrees outside and she was known for being coldblooded, so no one thought it odd to see her wearing it throughout the day. But she had removed her giant sunglasses once she closed herself in her office.

Taking in the sad, guilty look on his face, she feels a sudden and inexplicable wave of anger roll over her. "Where have you been?" she asks him through gritted teeth.

Again, his face shifts, eyes closing tightly as though he simply can't bear to look at her. Lips closed in a firm, set line and nostrils flaring as he tries to keep himself together. Hearing her angry, tired, broken rasp is almost too much for him, and all at once he realizes that this was a bad idea. "I'm sorry," he whispers before turning to head back out the door.

She jumps up from her desk, the crash of her chair against the full boxes lining the wall of her office stopping him in his tracks. "Don't you dare leave," she nearly shouts at him. She's not entirely sure where the anger is coming from – she may have been feeling it all along – but it's certainly bubbling to the surface now. "Where _were_ you?" She asks again, barely controlled rage lacing the carefully uttered words.

He doesn't turn to face her when he says again, "I'm sorry," this time louder.

Stop saying that," she tells him firmly. "Where were you?"

He takes a deep breath. "I just needed… I was at Steve's," he says finally.

"Well I was in a hospital bed on the med floor," she says, voice full of hostility. He winces as she speaks. "I was _hurt_."

His shoulders drop even lower, eyes pointed down, concealed by the dark hair draped over his face. "I know."

She shakes her head and moves to wipe a few stray tears that had only just begun to fall from her eyes. "I needed you," she says plainly, as though that should be more than enough to make him see. "I was hurt. And scared. And I _needed_ you. And you weren't there."

He turns then, not quite believing what he's hearing. "You were hurt and scared because I hurt and scared you," he says, a hint of anger now in his voice too.

"You didn't mean to –"

"That's not the point!"

"Yes it is!" Her words are barely audible, her voice giving out and cracking as she tries to shout. When she opens her mouth again, the words come out as a mere whisper. "I _needed_ you."

They stand in silence for what seems like an eternity, neither looking at the other. Some chatter can be heard from down the hall, so Tessa walks over, pressing herself against Bucky as she leans past him to shut the door. Before she can get back to her desk, he makes a move to grasp her hand. Realizing at the last moment that it's his metal hand trying to take hold of her, he lets her fingers drop. "I'm sorry," he breathes out into the small space between them.

She looks down and sees him open and close the metal fist repeatedly. "I don't want you to be sorry," she tells him. "I just want you to be with me."

His lets out a shuddering breath when he says, "I don't know if I can."

She reaches down and takes hold of his hand, peels the metal fingers apart so it's no longer tightly fisted. He makes a move to pull away when she brings the hand up to her face, but relents when she grasps his wrist with her other hand as well. "You can," she says before kissing his open palm.

He watches her closely, watches as she kisses each one of his metal fingertips, slowly, softly. He can feel the warmth of her hands on his wrist, the slight pressure of her lips on his fingers. "Stop it," he says finally, harshly tugging his hand from her grasp.

She looks up and they meet eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. He's never seen eyes so red. With blood pooled into the whites like that, she looks like some sort of B-movie zombie. His gaze travels over her face and he takes note of the other sparsely spaced red marks that pepper her skin, more tiny broken vessels. He brings his right hand up to touch one near her temple, the mark thin and windy, tracing the line of the capillary.

Then he lets his hand drift down to her cheek, her chin, to the very top of the woolen scarf. His fingertips work their way under the fabric and begin to tug it down. She closes her eyes and reclines her head back so that he can better see the bruising beneath. "I could've killed you," he nearly sobs.

She reaches up and removes his hand, replaces the scarf and says simply, "But you didn't."

When she looks up at him, he's shaking his head slowly, tears seeping from his tightly closed eyes. In a thick voice he asks her the one question that's been playing over and over and over again in his mind. "Why didn't you stop me?"

She's momentarily stunned, and he knows it. Hearing her breath catch, he opens his eyes and looks down at her. Her mouth is agape, ticking at the corners as though preparing to form words, but never quite getting there. She looks confused, lost even, and he has to fight the urge to wrap his arms so tight around her. "I…" she finally manages, but nothing more comes out.

"I'm sorry," he issues out hurriedly. "I'm not… I'd never… blame you." He shakes his again, hating that he can't do anything right, can't even apologize. "I'm sorry."

"No," she ekes out, taking a step back, then another. She backs into her desk and leans onto it, both hands gripping the top firmly. "No, you're right. I should've –"

"I'm not saying that," he interrupts quickly. "I'm not saying that you _should have_ done anything. This was my fault."

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "It was a night terror, James. Would you blame yourself like this if you had a seizure and accidently hit me?"

He gives her a confused look. "It's not… that's not the same thing."

"You had a physiological reaction to an emotional stressor. Your body reacted to a stimuli without the knowledge or permission of your conscious mind. _It was not your fault._ " She speaks with such determination, such authority, that he almost believes her. They gaze at each other for only a moment before she drops her head and stares down at the floor in front of her "And I should have stopped you," she says quietly.

"Tessa," he tries, but she's quick to interrupt.

"I told you that you were safe with me, that you couldn't hurt me. And I _could've_ stopped you. It would've been so easy…" She looks back up, meets his eyes and gives him a small, sad smile. "I froze," she says with a shrug. Tears glisten in her eyes and she sniffles as she nods her head. "I froze, and I'm sorry."

He wants to tell her again that it isn't her fault. He wants to tell her that everyone freezes up sometimes. He wants to tell her, more than anything else, that he loves her. But he can't find the words to actually say any of these things. Instead, he moves forward in two long strides and sweeps his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, tilts her head up as he drops his lips down onto hers. It's only a breath of a moment before she releases her hold on the desk and wraps her arms around his middle, pulling him in closer.

She slips away from the kiss and nuzzles into his neck, whispers to him as hot tears fall to his shoulder, "I didn't want to feel like this. I didn't want to… need anyone like this. But I do. I need you."

He inhales the sweet scent of her shampoo as he twines his fingers deeper into her thick hair. "I need you too," he tells her, slowly bringing his metal arm up and wrapping it loosely around her hips.


	12. It Wasn't You

**Author's Note:** I thought about giving you something sweet and cute to break up the angst... but then I didn't. Enjoy!

* * *

He wakes to the sounds of startled gasping, quickly turning over and pulling himself stark upright. Before his eyes can adjust to the dark well enough to see, Tessa bolts up next to him, a strangled scream tearing its way out of her. He looks beyond her, toward the open bedroom door. _Nothing_. Behind him at the window, cracked just a sliver to let in the fresh air. _Nothing_. Bathroom looks empty. The room looks clear. The only sound is her choking breaths and tight sobs.

He runs his hand down his face in a quick grounding gesture – _just a nightmare_ – before turning to her. "Hey," he says gently, but she doesn't seem to hear. "Hey," a bit louder as he moves his hand toward her face to brush back the sweaty hair cemented at her temple.

She recoils from him, leaping back in fear, so desperate to get away from him that she tumbles off the side of the bed. He moves quickly to the edge and reaches down for her, but she smacks his hand away and curls into a tight ball, knees to her chest, hands up in a defensive posture.

"Tessa?" He moves a bit closer, slowly. He throws his legs over the edge of the bed and gingerly reaches for her again.

"Nooooo!" she cries out in a pained and petrified tone that he's never heard come out of her before.

It startles him so badly that he actually flinches. It takes him a moment to recover. Once he does, he flips on the light on the bedside table, casting a soft glow over the corner of the room. She's rocking now, still curled up so tightly, like a scared child, and he wants nothing more than to cradle her in his arms and tell her that everything is alright. But as he begins to lower himself to the floor, he notices that her hands aren't pressed out defensively anymore. Instead they're slowly clawing and clenching at her throat as if working to peel something away. Her face is tucked into her knees, but he can see small red marks blossoming on the side of her neck where her left hand grips and claws. And beneath those marks he can still make out the faded sickly green and yellow bruises that he gave her just over a week ago.

He's frozen now, metal fingers desperately gripping the corner of the bed while his other hand extends out towards her, readying itself to touch her, to embrace and comfort her. But he won't let it move in. "Oh God," he whispers. "Oh baby…" She continues to cry, deep, gasping sobs. But he doesn't move any closer. Eventually he drops his hand, brings it down to grip the quilt on the other side of him as he stares at her, dumfounded. She's still grasping at her throat, scratching herself mercilessly. "Please stop that," he issues out in a desperate tone, closing his eyes tightly and bringing his hands up to his face to hide behind them.

The cries begin to fade and her breaths begin to calm, and he peeks out from between his fingers to find her looking confusedly around the room. He drops his hands and watches her as she slowly takes things in. This is something he's experienced a thousand times before, this hazy place between dreams and reality where you have to work to pull yourself out of the nightmare and plant yourself in the space your body now inhabits.

"You okay?" he asks hesitantly. She startles at his voice, wide, frightened eyes turning to him as she pulls her knees closer. "Baby?" he tries, nearly choking on the word.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head vehemently. He sits and waits. Her eyes are still firmly shut as she furrows her brow. "Bad dream," she mutters, so quiet he can barely hear her.

"I know." He drops his elbows to his knees and lets his head fall into his hands as his shoulders collapse into a silent sob. "I'm sorry." He takes a quick breath to steady his voice before saying, "I'm so, so sorry."

She's silent, but he can feel her looking at him. When he glances up, her big green eyes are boring right into him. They shimmer with unshed tears before welling up so much so that the tears cascade out, widening the warm wet tracks already running down her cheeks. Her chin trembles – with sadness? with fear? – but she never breaks eye contact with him.

"Do you want me to go?" he asks simply, sitting upright and readying himself to leave.

Her face oddly contorts. "No!" she sobs, pulling herself quickly to her knees and tumbling forward into him. She wraps herself around his legs, holding tight as she rests her head in his lap.

He brings his arms around her, left hand carefully curling over her shoulder blade as the right works itself into her hair. "Shhhh," he runs his fingers through her dark waves, gingerly at first, then forcing through until he's able to cup the back of her head. "Shhhh… I'm sorry, baby," he says, softly, voice cracking. "So sorry," as he leans down and kisses her crown.

She says nothing for several long moments, just clings to him and cries. Then she takes in a single deep breath and begins to pull away. She takes his right hand, pulling his fingers from her hair, and she holds it between both of her hands as she leans back onto her heels. When he looks down at her face, she struggles to give him a small smile. Then, shaking her head and letting out a ragged sigh, she says simply, "Go back to bed," before getting up and heading to the bathroom.

He lets her go, following her with his eyes, but saying nothing. The shower turns on, and truth be told, he's not sure that he moves one inch the entire time she's in there. When she comes back out, steam billowing out the door behind her, he sees that she's wearing a bra and panties in place of the nightshirt she'd had on. He watches silently as she moves to the dresser, pulls out a pair of jeans and slips them on. Then she grabs a T-shirt off of the back of the overstuffed chair in the corner and pulls it over her head, soaking it through with her wet hair. She pulls her hair back into a sopping, messy bun and turns to find her sneakers.

"What are you doing?" he finally ekes out.

She glances over at him and almost seems startled that he's still there, still sitting on the very edge of the bed, bathed in the lamplight. He still looks stricken, but now his countenance is only half horrified, the other half utterly bewildered. She drops her gaze down and finishes putting on her shoes. "Going to the lab."

He looks at the clock on the bedside table. "It's 2:30."

"Yeah, I can't sleep." She looks back at him for just the briefest of moments and shoots him a halfhearted smile. "You should go back to bed."

"Tessa…"

She throws up her hand to silence him. "I just can't… be here… right now."

"No," he says, finally moving, rising from the bed and walking over to where she looms in the doorway. "This is _your_ apartment. I should be the one to leave."

She gives him a baffled look. "Why would you leave?"

"Because I…" he locks onto her eyes and sees the genuine confusion there. "I… scared you."

"No you didn't," she answers without pause.

"You had a nightmare," he says, seeming to struggle for words. "I… you had a nightmare… about me."

"No I didn't," she replies shaking her head vehemently.

"Baby," he breathes out, reaching hesitantly for her hand.

She pulls back before he can make contact. "I didn't," she repeats forcefully. Her eyes on fire when she tells him, "It wasn't you. It had nothing to do with you," before she turns on her heel and bolts out the door.


	13. Too Soon?

"Maybe it's too soon," Steve says, his voice dripping with that _mother knows best_ quality. Bucky actually finds himself letting out a small, crooked grin when he recognizes Sarah in his best friend's words.

 _Maybe it's too soon for you to go back to school. You're not yet recovered. Maybe it's too soon for you to be thinking about a career. You're still just a boy. Maybe it's too soon to –_

"You sound like your mom," he tells him, head hanging low. He looks up and sees the pained smile on Steve's face, the pitiful look in his eyes. He knows he's trying to help, but… "I shouldn't have come here," he says, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have woken you up."

"Bucky, this is your home. You can always come here. And if you're upset, I want you to wake me up."

Bucky nods hesitantly. He looks down at his hands, still tightly gripped around the mug of hot tea. Another memory slowly filters to the surface. "Your mom used to make chamomile tea. At night, when she got home from work."

Steve's face almost begins to glow as he moves further into the kitchen and leans his hip against the counter to the side of his friend. "She used to threaten us with it. When we wouldn't calm down."

"Running around the apartment like little _hooligans_ ," he says with a laugh, quoting Sarah's words. He can see her face, and while he had remembered her before, vaguely recalling her presence in his childhood, he now for the first time actually _recognizes_ her. He lets out another short chuckle before the image fades from his mind and his face falls once more. "I really fucked things up," he says, shaking his head.

Steve sighs. "It's just gonna take time," he tells him simply. "You need time to forgive yourself. And she needs time to heal. To… get over things."

He sets down his mug with a harsh _thunk_. "That's the thing, though. I thought she _had_. I mean… we talked things out. We've _been_ talking things out. It's not like I just went back over there and decided to stay the night and ignore what happened. Hell, the first couple of nights I slept on the couch and made her lock the bedroom door."

Steve looks up at him, genuinely surprised. "You did?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, both mornings I woke up and found her curled up in the chair in the corner, so it's not like she listened."

Steve lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that's more what I'd expect."

The two men lock sad, tired eyes. "If I could take it back, I would," Bucky tells him.

"I know that," Steve says, his brow furrowed. "Everyone knows that."

"She came to a therapy appointment with me," he lets out casually.

"Really?" He shifts his weight and stands up straight. "You didn't tell me that."

Bucky shrugs. "Seemed like a good idea." He swallows deeply and begins shaking his head again. "She seemed okay," he says, voice cracking just a bit. "I mean… I didn't think…" He pauses and tightly shuts his eyes. Then, "Do you think it's too soon?" he asks, words spilling out in rapid succession. "Do you think I should… stay away for a while?"

Steve's eyes widen, his face hardening. "Honestly? Yes, I do. I think it's way too soon. And I think you should stay here for a while."

Bucky looks up at him in shock. Clearly he had expected him to disagree, to reassure him that everything would be fine. "But…" he starts, seemingly at a loss for words.

Now it's Steve's turn to shake his head. "You didn't see her, Buck. That night. You didn't see the look in her eyes… the fear, grief… the guilt. And the pain. You didn't see how much it hurt her to swallow or talk, or just breathe."

Bucky's eyes drop to the floor, his mouth falling open in a helpless gape.

" _Bruce_ was scared," Steve goes on, reliving his own fear as he relays the experience. "He was…" He clamps his mouth shut for a long moment, thinking better of sharing the rest.

"He was what?" Bucky asks slowly, tone low and commanding.

"He was scared to treat her. He wanted to take her to the emergency room, admit her to the hospital. He was honestly afraid that she was going to die. Right there. With us. In the med room." He waits for Bucky to look up at him, then locks onto his eyes. "Yeah, Buck. I think it's too soon. I think she needs more time. I think you need more time. I think _we all_ need more time."

Bucky drops his gaze again, hair hiding his face as he gives him a tight nod. "Okay," he says softly before turning and shuffling off to his already packed-up bedroom.

Steve stays up. He watches infomercials and sitcom reruns on TV for a few hours, then he heads out for a run. He knocks on Bucky's door before he leaves, asks him if he wants to join. A clipped, "No." is all he receives in response.

When he gets back, he showers, changes, makes breakfast. He knocks on Bucky's door to see if he's hungry. "No," again, bites through the closed door.

He starts on some work. Now that they're moving into the new facility, they have the ability to upgrade the team, create sub-tiers of soldiers and set up non-combatant clean-up crews. Potential new recruits are coming out of the woodwork. FBI, CIA, NSA… well-trained field agents and operatives. And Tony's tasked him with choosing the best of the best. He knocks on Bucky's door, asks him to help.

"No."

He's only able to make it through one file before he's on his feet and out the door, making a bee-line for Tessa's office two floors below. It's barely 10 AM, but it feels like it's already the end of the day. And the minute he sees her behind her desk, her head in her hands, he's sure she must feel the same way. He knocks on her open door, asks if he can come in, and for the first time today is met with a, "Yes."

"You look exhausted," he tells her as he moves a full file box out of the chair across from her and lowers himself into the seat.

She gives him an assessing look, begins to absently twirl her pen between her fingers. "What do you want, Steve?"

He pulls in a deep breath and cocks his head to the side, gives her a small, sad, knowing smile… says nothing.

She rolls her eyes. "I had a nightmare," she tells him with more than a hint of annoyance. "One fucking bad dream. So what?" The pen drops, clattering to the desktop.

"Bucky's pretty upset about it," he says plainly. "I think he's just gonna stay with me for a few days."

She gives him a look that starts out as confused and quickly escalates to irate. Jutting her chin out defiantly, she asks him, "Why the fuck would he do that?"

"Tess," he intones, shaking his head.

"No," she interrupts, rising from her chair. "I told him. It had nothing to do with him." Steve widens his eyes in a skeptical look. "It didn't!" She looks around frantically for a path out from behind the desk, but she's managed to somehow hem herself in with various boxes and piles of files. After a couple of failed attempts to step over the mess, she gives up, shoulders drooping as she lets herself fall back into her seat. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the desk, drops her head into her hands, and speaks in an almost indecipherable mumble, "So fucking arrogant."

"Sorry, what?"

She looks up and notices the slightly amused look on Steve's face. Of course, he would think that her being trapped by all of her work was funny. "I said, _he's so fucking arrogant._ You both are."

"Whoa, what did I do?"

Now it's her turn to give him an incredulous, disbelieving look. "You didn't tell him that he should stay with you?"

Steve knows he's caught, and for a brief moment he actually wonders if she's developed some sort of mind-reading powers. But still he says, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Steve…" She shakes her head slowly, a barely controlled rage emanating from her. He can see it in her hands, splayed flat on the desktop in front of her. He can sense it in her piercing gaze as she locks onto his eyes. He can hear it in her voice when she says, in a short clipped tone, "I lived a life outside these walls. I lived a life before I met you. Not everything is about what happens here. Not everything is about being fucked up over Ultron. Or about working too much or too hard. Or about that damn night terror that James had. It wasn't about _him_." She slaps the desk on the last word.

They sit in silence for a moment, Tessa slowly bringing her anger back down to a manageable level, Steve sifting through her words in his mind. "What was it about then?" he asks finally.

She sighs, drops her head back into her hands.

"Tessa?"

"Did you tell him he should stay with you?" she asks, voice low.

He nods. "Even if your… dream was about something else, you can't tell me that Bucky attacking you didn't bring whatever that was back to the surface."

She doesn't deny it. She doesn't say anything at all, in fact. She simply looks over at him with sad, tired eyes and lets out another deep sigh. She looks defeated, he thinks. She looks miserable.

"I told him that you both probably need a little more time. That's all. We're set to start moving next week. Maybe waiting until then… at least until then… maybe you can have a clean start in the new compound."

"Yeah," she says quietly. Then, straightening her posture. "No." She rises up and crawls onto the desk, flings her legs over the lamp and computer screen, almost taking the monitor down with her as she scurries over the top of the desk. "No," she repeats, seemingly to no one at all, as she dodges a couple of boxes and makes her way out the door.

Steve jumps up and follows her in stunned silence. He slides into the elevator just as the doors are closing and watches as she punches in his floor. When they arrive at his apartment, she stands by the door with her hands on her hips, tapping her toe impatiently. He gets the hint and hurriedly scans his card to unlock.

She bolts through the door and Steve follows hot on her trail, coming to a startled stop when he sees Bucky at the breakfast bar, spoonful of cereal frozen in his hand. She doesn't seem at all surprised to see him, but his eyes are blown wide in shock as he shifts his gaze from the woman before him over to Steve.

"What's going on?" Bucky asks slowly, narrowing his eyes accusingly at his friend. Steve simply shrugs.

"I'm only going to say this once," Tessa says, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two men. "And then we're never talking about this again. Understand?"

Bucky drops the spoon into his bowl of cereal and swivels in his seat so that he's facing her. "You don't have to say anything," he tells her. "I just think – "

"No," she interrupts, tossing a silencing hand out towards him. "Just… listen." The room is quiet for a long moment as she gathers her thoughts. "That dream… it wasn't you." She looks Bucky in the eyes, holds his gaze as she says the words, trying to assess whether or not they're sinking in. "I promise you, it wasn't." She turns to address Steve for a quick moment. "Maybe what happened reminded me of it… triggered a memory. Maybe." She looks back at Bucky. "But it wasn't you. I'm not afraid of you. I've never been afraid of you."

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he takes in her words. "Who then?" he asks, voice sharp. He stands up and looms in front of her. "It was a memory? _That_ was a memory?"

She nods carefully, takes in a deep breath, and looks him right in the eye when she says, "There are things in your past that I know you don't want to talk about. And I have never made you talk about them with me. _Never_. This is one of those things. For me."

He visibly tenses before her, lips pressed in a firm, straight line, hands slowly fisting and unclenching. But in his eyes, she can see that he's not going to argue. He's thinking it all through. He's processing. He's –

"It was a long time ago. And I'm fine now," she tells him, taking a small step forward. She tilts her head to look up at him and slowly raises her hands to his shoulders. "I've had nightmares before. Not just about this. And I'll have more… I'm sure of that. I've had some shit happen in my life. You get that, right?"

He nods sharply, shoulders still tight beneath her hands.

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm not going to talk about it. Okay?"

Again, he nods.

"I'm going to go check in at the lab and finish packing up my office." She drops her hands from his shoulders and takes a few steps back. "I have a meeting with Tony at two. But after that," she says, turning and heading for the door, walking backwards to hold his gaze, "I'm coming home. And I expect you to be there. You said you'd help me pack." She looks into his eyes for a long moment, her small smile never fading. "I love you."

He nods his head again, letting his posture finally relax. "Okay," he relents. "I'll get more boxes." He gives her a small, exhausted-looking smile of his own. "I love you too."

The minute the door closes, Steve spins back around to Bucky. "What the hell was that?" he asks in a stunned tone.

Bucky takes his bowl to the sink and rinses it out. He comes back around the corner and scoots past the dazed-looking man as he makes his way for the door. "I think…" he pauses briefly before looking Steve in the eye. "I think we've had the time we need. That was us deciding to move on," he says, patting his friend on the back. "You should probably try it too."

* * *

 **Author's note:** This will come up again... Let's be honest, the past always comes back to fuck with you. But for now, I think we all need a little break from the torment. So stay tuned for some floofy fluff!


	14. Pure Sin

Their first Christmas together was great. Neither of them really had any family outside of the tower, so it's not as though they had to stress out about meeting parents or splitting time between different parties or traveling during the worst travel time of the year. Instead, they got to stay at home, wrapped in a cocoon of new relationship splendor. They were just starting to realize who they were to each other then, or who they could be. They were just starting to fall in love. So, yeah, last Christmas was pretty damn near perfect.

But this year, things were… different. They had just made the move to the new Avengers facility upstate and the entire campus was still in a bit of upheaval. Tessa's lab was understaffed, she was wholly unaware of how to troubleshoot the new computer system that Tony had installed, and her lack of organized filing had finally caught up to her. Even her wonderful, amazing, always capable assistant was pulling her hair out trying to track down everything that was misplaced in the move.

Bucky was faring better. It's not like he had much stuff to pack or unpack, let alone to keep track of. And he wasn't tasked with running a lab while also prepping an entire medical unit. All he had to do was help Steve choose new potential recruits. And they weren't even going to officially contact anyone until the campus was up and running, so even that job wasn't exactly a priority.

He kept himself busy, and just tried to be helpful, by assisting workers around the buildings. But half the time, that damn disembodied voice would turn on and tell him that his services weren't required. He had never gotten used to Jarvis communicating through the walls, but there was something even weirder about hearing Friday. Maybe it was feminine, slightly sensual Irish drawl.

Because he didn't have much to do, and because Tessa was typically overwhelmed with all she had going on, he'd turned into a bit of a house-husband. That's what Natasha had called him. Sam referred to him as a bang-maid – though only once.

Bucky wasn't fond of people calling him anything. He wasn't fond of them knowing his business at all. And he certainly wasn't fond of playing a non-traditional gender role. At least not in theory. In practice, however, he actually enjoyed making breakfast and dinner. And he really didn't mind doing laundry. And his time in the Army had given him an appreciation for spotless spaces, crisp military corners, and precise organization. So unpacking and cleaning wasn't too bad either. He had a feeling that, while his father would've chided him for spending his days doing women's work, his mother would've been proud. And really, Bucky never did care much for what his father thought of him anyway.

But it did sometimes feel like he had stepped into someone else's life. Just two years ago he had been a largely unstable former assassin who was being kept hidden away from the Hydra foes he'd unwittingly helped to take down. His days were spent trying to separate fantasy from reality and past from present, all while trying to help Steve and his new friends root out remaining Hydra supporters.

But recently things had changed. Sure, they still kept a close eye out in case anything Hydra-related popped. But a near cataclysmic event helped to put some things into perspective. Bucky wanted to help. He wanted to be part of a team again, a team that strived to do right and worked to save the world.

And on a personal note, he'd realized that he didn't want to take a single moment with Tessa for granted. Over the last year and a half or so, she had somehow managed to show him what it meant to be cared for, to be loved. Hydra had wiped that concept from his brain, along with so much else. He's not really sure how she was able to salvage whatever human remnants were left inside of him, let alone how she managed to piece them all together to create the man he is today. But he's more than grateful to her for doing it. And he's honestly not sure where he'd be right now – or _who_ he'd be – if she hadn't come into his life.

Just after Ultron, when Tony first told them all about the upcoming move upstate, it felt like a forgone conclusion that he and Tessa would _bunk together_ , as he'd put it when broaching the subject with Steve. Afterall, at that point, he'd been spending most of his nights at her place anyway. In fact, Tony had put them together in this two bedroom apartment when he first drew up the plans for the living quarters. Leave it to Tony to just _assume_.

"That's still a really big step, Buck," Steve had told him with that patronizing look on his face. "I mean, are you gonna marry her?"

What Bucky had wanted to say was something along the lines of, _of course I'm going to marry her, you idiot_. But what came out was the far more rational, "We've only been together a year. We're still getting to know each other. Hell, I'm still getting to know _me_." He had actually mentally patted himself on the back for giving such a mature response.

But then Steve let out a long sigh and slowly shook his head, his eyes just brimming over with a look of _I'm Captain America, and I know what's best for everyone!_ "Maybe you shouldn't move into together then." He'd put a strong hand on Bucky's shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. "Maybe it's just too soon."

"Nah," Bucky told him simply, "I'll think we'll take our chances."

Steve was still _jokingly_ referring to their relationship as _pure sin_.

Of course, all of that happened before he woke in the middle of the night with his hands tightly clenched around her throat. He's not sure that he'll ever forgive himself for that. He's not sure that he wants to. But if one good thing did come from that night, it was the feeling that they truly were meant to be together. She loved him so fiercely that she could forgive him for nearly killing her in her sleep. And he needed her so desperately that he couldn't keep himself away, even though he worried constantly that it might happen again.

In the last few months, they'd become more than just… whatever it was people were calling them – boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers, partners. They'd survived the end of the world together. They made it through that _incident_ together. And they'd been managing this horrendous move together. They may not be married, but they did now officially have a home together. And that made them a family.

So this Christmas had to be something special.

Tessa was already talking about getting a tree, a thing that neither of them had done in years. And after last year's Christmas dinner success, he felt like the pressure was on to up his game in the kitchen too. All of the Avengers, and Avengers-adjacent personnel, seemed way more into the holiday season this year. Maybe it was because they had already received nearly a foot of snow in their new upstate abode. Maybe it was because they were eager to really welcome Wanda to the family and give her a good holiday, and also show Vision what Christmas was really all about. Maybe it was because everyone was just now getting settled after a long and arduous uprooting. Or maybe it was because the world almost ended less than half a year ago. No matter the cause, there was one thing for sure, this Christmas had to be _perfect_.

"So what are you getting me?" she asks, her voice heady with near sleep as she lays her head on the armrest of the couch.

He's massaging her feet, as he has been for the past five minutes, since she stumbled in and splayed out on the couch in a pathetic-looking heap. "We're doing presents?" he asks, a coy smile on his face. "I thought you were too busy for that?"

She raises her head and gives him a suspicious glare. "I can make time. I have an assistant you know."

"So I should thank Claire for whatever I get come Christmas morning?"

"Probably," she shrugs, flopping her head back down and closing her eyes. "It just feels different this year," she says after a long moment. "Like… I want to do stuff… celebrate… like when I was a kid."

"Yeah?" He sets down her foot and reaches out to take hold of her hand. Then he gives a little tug to haul her up next to him. She lets out a dramatic whine as he sits her up, and then she snuggles into the cushions along the back of the sofa. "What do you want to do?" he asks, his bright eyes locked onto hers.

"Well…" she smiles and softly bites her bottom lip as she thinks. "I want to get a tree."

"You mentioned that, and I'm on board."

"And I want you to make another apple pie."

"Done."

"Oh!" She jolts upright, excitement taking over. "We could have a snowball fight. With everyone! Or at least everyone who's staying in town."

He smiles and laughs. "That sounds pretty great."

She lets out a sigh, her head falling back into the cushions once again. "I think something like that would be good. A morale booster. Or just… you know… a break. For everyone."

He brings his left hand over to her face, tucks a few stray hairs behind her ear, and opens his hand up so that she can nuzzle into the metal palm. There's something about the clean, smooth coolness of the metal that calms her nerves. He places the pad of his thumb between her eyes and rubs slow, deep circles into her forehead, and she hums with contentment.

"You've got a headache," he says, a statement, not a question. He'd discovered a few months into their relationship that Tessa sometimes gets migraines. She liked to blame it on her mutation, though there was no explanation for how that would cause them. It didn't take long for him to figure out that they were usually caused by stress and just plain working too damn hard. But the strong, cold pressure of his thumb on her forehead, and his fingertips along her temple, seemed to help. It was one of the only things he actually liked about that stupid metal arm.

"Everyone's working so hard to get the med floor up and going. And my team in the lab is dealing with those stupid new machines that hardly ever work. And Tony won't admit that they're pieces of shit, which is making me crazy. And so much of the day-to-day stuff is still in the city…" She lets out a miserable sort of huff. "I'm just tired."

"How long do you have to keep going into the city?" She'd been commuting at least three days a week since they'd moved into the new compound, sometimes more if the systems in the lab went down. She'd always worked too hard for too long… being so dedicated to her job was one of the things he loved about her, actually. Like it or not, Tessa was all in when it came to the things she was passionate about. But this was getting to be too much. "I'm worried about you," he says softly, when she doesn't answer. She gives him a sad puppy dog look, complete with pouty bottom lip. "I'm serious," he says, a no-nonsense stare taking over his face.

"Well, the business side of Stark Industries is still in the city. So board meetings, budget meetings, whatever other kind of meetings Tony makes me go to, will all still be there. But he _promises_ the lab will be fully transitioned by the spring." She reaches out and places her palm on his cheek, then runs her fingertips through his hair. "Don't worry. It makes you look older than your 99 years."

He takes her hand and brings her palm down to his lips, kisses it gently. "I'll always worry about you." They connect eyes and a big, sly smile takes his over as he secures his grip on her hand and blows a giant, messy raspberry into her palm.

"Uh," she groans, struggling to pull away. "You're so gross!" He slips his grip down to her wrist and catches her other arm with his right hand. "No!" she squeals as he hauls her over on top of him. He scoots his bottom down the couch a bit so that he's laying beneath her. "Boys are nasty," she says, settling her head onto his chest.

"My mom used to say that boys were made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails," he says into her hair.

"I know that," she breathes into him, dreamily. "And girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice." She tilts her head and looks up at him with a shit-eating grin.

"God, I love you," he says with a laugh. Then, giving her another stern look, "But I'm not going to stop worrying about you. Not ever."

She shifts on top of him and rolls off to the side so she's largely sandwiched between the back of the couch and his strong, warm body. "Such a mama bear," she yawns out.

"You need to work less."

"I need to work more efficiently," she counters. "I need a new car."

"What's wrong with your car?"

"Nothing. But if I could get to and from the city faster…"

He shakes his head and smiles. "Ah, I see. You won't cut back on work, so you plan to shave time by breaking traffic laws."

"You think Tony would give me a suit?" she asks, tilting her face up again to look him in the eye. "That would cut my commute to next to nothing. _And_ I'd have a suit. I'd be Iron Maiden!"

He raises his eyebrows and nods, clearly not getting her word play.

She just shakes her head and snuggles back into his side. "You're so old," she tells him. "Sometimes I think you don't understand anything."

He picks up her hand, which she'd been using to softly tap out a rhythm on his sternum, and intertwines their fingers. "That's rich coming from someone who drinks Ensure."

"You took away my power bars."

"Yeah, because they're filled with sugar."

"Which sustains me."

"For what, an hour?"

She nods into him. "And then I eat some candy."

He laughs softly and she beams as it reverberates through his chest and into her. "How are you a doctor?" They lay in silence for several minutes, Tessa curled into Bucky's side, his metal arm draped lazily over her. It isn't long before she's warm and heavy next to him and he can hear her breathing deepen steadily. "You want to go bed?" he asks, barely a whisper.

She hums in response, only partially awake, before shifting and rolling her face into his shoulder. Her words are a muffled mess when she mumbles something to the effect of, "Noemnottired."

He drops his left hand down to her bottom and gives her butt a sharp couple of pats. "C'mon," he says as he sits up, urging her to come with him. "If you go to bed, I'll get on the computer and start shopping for your Christmas present."

Her eyes are already glazed, but they still light up as she takes in a sharp breath and says, "You'd online shop for me?!"

"Only for you, doll face," he tells with a peck on the cheek and a quick slap on the ass. "Now get to bed."


	15. Hot Chocolate and Bourbon

The morning started slow, as all hungover mornings do. Sure, Bucky couldn't really get drunk anymore, but he could still wake up with a god-awful taste in his mouth from too much bourbon mixed with one too many Cuban cigars – thank you Maria Hill for those little beasts. And after being pelted with snowballs that were more ice than snow, and falling asleep on the hardwood floor with his head propped at a weird angle against the couch and his legs folded up underneath him to make room for Steve's sprawled out body, well, even the supersoldier was feeling almost all of his 99 years.

Steve, on the other hand, woke after about three hours feeling totally refreshed and looking 100%, despite getting nailed repeatedly in the face by rock-hard ice balls the night before.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bucky asks his friend as he exhaustedly stumbles into the kitchen.

Steve turns around, spatula in hand, and points to the nearly full coffee pot. "I'm making you guys breakfast."

The popping of the bacon was actually what had woken him, but the smell of it now, mixed with the smell of his breath, almost makes him gag. Steve takes one look at his face and bursts out laughing. "Knock it off," Bucky mumbles at him.

"Guess you didn't get enough of the serum all those years ago," Steve says with a lilt as he turns back to the stove. "Shame really. It keeps you young." He picks up his coffee cup and turns back to Bucky with a smirk. "And you look… very, very old right now."

A metal middle finger is flipped up into the air as Bucky turns to head for the ensuite bathroom so he can brush his teeth. As soon as he enters the bedroom, he hears the faint snores that tell him the girls are still asleep. He looks over at the bed and sees Wanda passed out on what's typically his side, a pillow over her head. Natasha is draped almost majestically over the foot of the bed, her face so peacefully relaxed that he almost doesn't recognize her. And then there's Tessa, who's halfway off her side already, one arm dangling off the bed as her hip lingers precariously on the edge. He goes over and tucks her arm up underneath her. And when she doesn't so much as stir, he gives her a little shove to move her lower body closer to the center of the bed.

"Such a gentleman," Natasha mumbles into the comforter.

He doesn't even respond, just continues on to the bathroom to find a toothbrush.

A couple hours later they're all sitting in the living room, working on the third pot of coffee. Everyone except Wanda, who's still sprawled out in their bed. Steve had set a glass of water on the nightstand for her, and Tessa had moved a small waste basket by her side just in case. "And she's the youngest of us all," she'd murmured with a disappointed shake of the head as she closed the door to the bedroom. But if they were worried about disturbing her as they ate and talked in the other room, they needn't be.

"Maybe we should go check on her," Steve suggests after a particularly loud bout of laughter – which doesn't seem to make the young woman stir – dies down.

Tessa waves him off. "She's fine. Just let her sleep."

Nat starts to rise at that. "Actually," she says, setting down her mug, "we should probably let her sleep in her own bed and let you two get to your _private_ Christmas morning." She winks at Tessa and offers Steve a hand to help haul him off the couch.

Tessa takes another sip of coffee before letting out an, "Ugh. It's too early for that."

"Too early for what?" Bucky asks, cocking his head curiously to the side.

She wiggles her eyebrows at him over the lip of her mug, but says nothing.

"You guys," Steve starts, "this was really, really great." He smiles down at his friends, a warm, sweet, genuine smile that reminds Bucky of the little kid he used to pal around with. "Really."

"Really?" Bucky smirks sarcastically.

"I'm serious. The snowball fight, the hot chocolate – "

"The weird adult sleepover," Natasha interjects.

"Steve stayed over at our place for Christmas all the time," Bucky says with a smile.

"You remember that?" Steve asks, a sort of wonder filling his voice. Bucky had been remembering so much of his former life over the last year that he didn't always notice anymore when a long buried memory floated to the surface.

"Yeah. Your ma would pick up extra shifts around the holidays to get time and a half."

"Yeah," Steve breathes out, bright blue eyes holding Bucky's gaze. "Yeah, she did."

"Out of curiosity," Natasha inquires, "when you two had hot chocolate as kids, was it equal parts cocoa and bourbon?"

"Nah," Bucky says, getting to his feet, "Usually just a splash." He pats Steve on the shoulder and gives him a little squeeze before heading for the bedroom. "You want help with sleeping beauty?"

"We got it," Nat tells him as she pushes past. She makes her way over to the bed and peels the pillow off Wanda's face, smiling crookedly as she's met with a deep, awful groan. "Rise and shine," she singsongs. "Steve's going to carry you to your own bed. Try not to throw up on him, if you can help it."

Steve gives a resigned sigh before leaning down and scooping the girl into his arms. She lets out another groan and he tenses, just waiting for her to blow chunks on his chest. But after a long moment he feels her settle into him. He moves slowly and carefully through the apartment towards the door, whispering, "Merry Christmas," over his shoulder as he carries Wanda off to her room.

"Let me know how it goes," Nat says to Tessa with a smirk before following the captain out.

Bucky closes the door behind them and leans up against it, looks over to Tessa who's still sitting with her legs curled up underneath her on the sofa, nearly empty mug cradled in her hands. "Should I ask what _it_ is?"

She smiles deviously and shakes her head.

"You want your present now?" he asks, pushing off the door and moving over to get something out of one of the desk drawers.

She sets down her mug and shifts on the couch, holds out her hands and says, "Yes please."

But he doesn't hand her anything. Instead, he reaches down and takes hold of her wrist, hauls her up off the couch. "Go get your shoes on."

She gives him a suspicious look before glancing down at herself. "I'm not really dressed to go out," she says, pulling at the dark red Henley of his that she has on.

It comes down to mid-thigh, and she's wearing leggings underneath, so he just gives her a shrug. "It's fine for where we're going."

"And where is that?" she asks, grabbing her sneakers when he hands them to her.

"It's a surprise." Once her shoes are on, he shows her the item he pulled from the drawer. It's a long black, silk scarf, and he's holding it with both hands like he's getting ready to wrap it around her. "Turn around," he says, an ominous hint to his voice.

"I'm not sure I want to." She gives him a truly suspicious side-eye glare and he just can't help but laugh.

He walks over to her and wraps the scarf around her eyes – once, then twice – before tying it in a knot in the back. Her hands come up and try to peel the blindfold away just enough so that she can peek through. "No." He lightly slaps at her hands before grasping them and pulling them towards him as starts to lead her out of the apartment. She doesn't budge. "C'mon," he urges. "I promise, it'll be worth it."

"Okay, but… not too fast," she says, taking tiny, overly cautious steps.

"You don't trust me?" he teases, leading her through the hall and into the elevator.

"Blindfolds usually end in either a kidnapping or kinky sex. It's not that I don't trust you. I just know that either of those things could result in injury." She continues to shuffle forward blindly as he pulls her out of the elevator and through the corridor. They stop suddenly and she hears the beeping of a keypad as he enters in a code. "Are we going out to the garage?" she asks. "Oh my God, you _are_ kidnapping me!"

"Very funny," he says, nudging the door open and leading her through.

"No, I knew it. You've been talking about me working too much. Now you're taking me away from my work," she drawls dramatically. "How will I _live_?!"

He halts in front of her and she very nearly slams into him, would have if she hadn't been so overly cautious with her steps. "Actually, that's a good idea. I should've just kidnapped you. Taken you somewhere far away where there are no labs or clinics or Tony Starks."

"Tony Stark practically takes up this whole planet," she says, moving her hands from his forearms, where'd they'd been positioned as he led her around, to his chest. "We'd have to leave the solar system."

"Good point."

"Are we there? Are we done?" She gently beats her hands on his chest as she begins an excited hop. "Can I take this damn thing off?"

He unties the blindfold and removes it from her head and steps off to the side as she shakes out her hair and blearily blinks. He stands by patiently as she gets her bearings and focuses on the gift in front of her.

"No," she breathes out before taking a small step forward. "No," again, a little louder, as she reaches out and touches the bright red carbon fiber body of the bike. She runs her fingers lightly along the mud guard before moving to the handlebar and letting them wrap around the grip.

The absolute look of adoration, the shock and awe swimming in her eyes is enough to make Bucky's face split into a grin so wide it almost hurts his cheeks. "What do you think?" he asks, so excited that he's actually rocking from his heels to his tiptoes.

"It's a Ducati," she says, almost to herself, her eyes never leaving the motorcycle in front of her. "You got me a Ducati."

He steps forward and places his right hand on hers as it continues to grip the handlebar. "It's a Panigale V4 Speciale."

"It's a V4," she whispers.

"But it rides like a twin," he tells her, and for the first time, she looks up at him. He gives a little laugh, taking in her still stunned expression. "What? I had to test it."

"Babe," she starts, her tone serious, "this is a $50,000 bike."

He nods. "Yeah, apparently I make pretty good money as an Avenger. Or associate… I'm not really sure what I am. But I have a lot of money and not a lot to do with it."

She tries to hide her smile, but just can't. Her eyes actually begin to glisten with tears when she says, "This is so… it's too much."

Bucky shrugs as he smiles down at her. "Steve said you had some piece of junk Honda when he met you. And I know you hate driving your car in the city. And you _did_ mention wanting to shave time off your commute."

Her eyes get wide then. "How fast?"

"I took it up to 140… which you will _never_ do," he says with a stern point of his finger. She nods emphatically, her eyebrows raised in a devious way. "I mean it. I know you can ride. I would never get you this if I didn't think you could handle it. But – "

"I know, I know. They don't call them donor-cycles for nothing." He pulls his eyebrows together and gives her a confused look. "That's what everyone in the ER calls motorcycles. You know, because people who ride them end up being organ donors."

He swipes at her hand, which is still resting on the grip of the handlebar. "Never mind, I'm taking it back."

"Noooo," she whines with a laugh. "I promise, I'll be sooo careful."

"Steve told me not to do this," he says with a half-smile and a shake of his head.

"Steve's the one who convinced me to get a car after my old bike finally died." She lets go of the Ducati and brings both of her hands up to Bucky's shoulders. "Steve _cannot_ be trusted." Her hands make their way up his neck and then to either side of his face, and she pulls him in for a deep, grateful, _there's more where that came from_ kiss. "You. Are. Amazing."

He kisses her again, long and deep, saying simply when he pulls away, "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."


	16. That's My Uniform

**Author's note:** You didn't really think I'd forget to give Bucky a gift too, did you?

* * *

They take turns taking the bike for a spin, making enough noise to bring Steve and Natasha out of the compound. Other than Wanda, everyone else is gone for the holiday – either home to their families, like Sam and Clint, or off to a tropical destination, like Tony and Pepper. No one really knew where Maria went once she left the party late last night, but then again, no one really knew where Maria was most of the time.

"I don't know if I said this already, but I love you," Tessa says to Bucky as they make their way back upstairs. Her arms are draped around his neck, which makes it hard for him to walk. But he couldn't care less, not when he hears the joy in her voice. "But you," she turns and shouts back at Steve, who's heading to the rec room with Natasha, "You, I haven't forgiven yet."

Steve just shakes his head from across the room. "I still think it's a bad idea. I can't tell you how many times I've almost been killed on a bike in the city." His face is wearing the _captain knows best_ expression, and it's just enough to make Bucky pick up the pace a bit, eager to get away from the naysayer. And eager to get away from the thought that he really could be wrong about this gift, and that he might have put his girl in danger because of it.

"Okay," she chirps the moment they enter their apartment, "You clean up in here and I'll go get your Christmas present."

"Why am I doing the cleanup?"

"Because you're so damn good at it, baby doll," she utters with a sly smile before placing a peck on his cheek.

He doesn't respond. Honestly, she's right. Her method of cleaning up would be to throw all of the dishes in the dishwasher – without rinsing them, mind you – and to toss the ash tray with a half-smoked cigar out the window. He's sure of it.

He's in the middle of washing the dishes – by hand because there's a part of him that just doesn't trust dishwashers – when hears music coming from the other room. He stops what he's doing, setting the mug back into the warm suds as he turns for the door. "Are you playing Glen Miller?" He leans into the doorframe, wiping his wet hands on his pants as he searches the room for her. "Where are you?" he asks, stepping into the living room as Moonlight Serenade gets louder.

"Right here," he hears from behind. When he swings around he almost stumbles, so taken aback by what he sees down the hall. Tessa is standing in the doorway to their bedroom wearing his old Army dress uniform jacket and hat. "Hey there, soldier." His jaw falls slack as he looks her up and down. She's got on vintage heels that he swears he's never seen on her before, and dark stockings held in place by delicate clips that just peek out from beneath the hem of the jacket. Her arms are crossed around her body, holding the garment tightly closed. "What's the matter?" she singsongs through bright red lips. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Where did you find that?" he asks, eyes still wide.

She saunters toward him and tips the brim of the hat in his direction. "Oh, this old thing?" He reaches out and pinches the collar of the jacket between his thumb and forefinger before sliding his hand over to the sleeve and letting his fingers brush over the insignia. "Sergeant Barnes?" she asks, her voice a bit less playful. She's not sure how to interpret the look in his eyes right now – far off, almost lost. "James?"

He looks up at her, his blue eyes still a bit cloudy, but filled with a sort of light as he says simply, a big dumb smile on his face, "That's my uniform."

She takes the hat off her head and pops it onto his. "Part of the Dugan family collection. Apparently Dum Dum – God, I hate calling him that – "

She rolls her eyes as he interrupts with, "He asked for it."

"Well," she continues, "apparently he donated his uniform to the Smithsonian, but wouldn't part with yours. He left it to his granddaughter in his will. Thought she'd take good care of it."

"And she gave it to you," he almost whispers, stepping backwards into the couch. He sits down on the arm and continues to just stare ahead at the woman in front of him.

"She actually gave it to Steve. He's had it for a while, but he was afraid that it might bring back bad memories."

"Bad memories… why?"

She shrugs, the jacket falling open a bit and revealing a naked collarbone. "There was a time in there when any memories – good or bad – might've triggered you." He frowns at that, knowing it's true, knowing how hard that was for Steve, who wanted nothing more than to have his best friend back to relive the good old days. She moves closer to him and lightly places her right hand on his cheek. "He thought you might like it back now."

He tilts his head a bit, leaning into her hand so that he can kiss her palm before tilting again to gaze up at her. "I thought this was _your_ Christmas present to me," he says with a crooked smile.

She takes a small step back. "Oh no. This," she says, dropping her hands down along her sides to indicate the jacket, "is just the wrapping."

"Oh, really?"

"You want your jacket back?" she asks, using both hands to hold the collar tightly around her. He quirks his head and nods. She slowly peels it off, folds it neatly in half, and hands it to him.

It takes a moment for his outstretched hand to even connect with the jacket, he's so focused on what's before him. Tessa stands in front of him clad in nothing but a black silk bra and girdle. His eyes wander from the thin straps that cut into her shoulders to the silk covering her round breasts to the strip of milky flesh at her middle. The tight bodice cinches her waist and relaxes at the hips, giving her a much more hourglass shape than she normally has. He drops the jacket on the sofa beside him and reaches out to touch one of the clips holding her stocking in place. He snaps it open easily – a trick that feels like muscle memory – and he moves his fingers around to take hold of her ass and haul her closer to him.

"Easy, there, soldier," she giggles, falling into him. "Buy a girl a drink first."

He wraps his arms around her waist and looks up at her with a devious glint. "I just bought you a Ducati."

She slips the hat off his head so that it tumbles down behind him, and runs her fingers through his hair. "You think I'm that easy?"

He nods. "I do," he says, dropping his face to her breasts and placing delicate kisses along her bra line.

"Yeah," she breathes out with a small laugh. "You got me."

He tightens his grip on her middle and whips her around, tossing her onto the couch cushions and landing on top of her in one fluid move. Pressing himself up on his forearms, he looks down at her as she lets loose with a chain of childlike giggles. Her face burns with a bright blush as she begins to work her bottom lip between her teeth. "You are so beautiful."

"Stop it," she says a sudden shyness taking over. She pushes on his shoulders, forcing him up so that she can roll out from underneath him. "I'm glad you think so, though." She gets up and walks over to the Christmas tree, reaches back behind it to pull out a thin box.

Bucky rights himself on the sofa as she walks back over with the wrapped parcel. "You're not my gift?"

"Well," she shrugs, sitting down next to him and handing him the box. He glances over at her and sees that she's blushing even more now, and averting eye contact, both of which make him extremely curious.

He peels back the paper and sees that the gift is a thickly bound calendar. He cocks his head at her, but she says nothing, just keeps nervously chewing her lip. When he opens it up he's met with a picture of his girl in a dark red vintage gown, the silky fabric clinging tightly to every curve as she presses her hands to her hips and leans dramatically forward. He flips through to June and sees her in a polka dot swimming costume, posing on the beach in a way that would put Betty Grable to shame. September has her in lingerie, very similar to what she's wearing now, but with a full-length corset, laying on their bed, her head draped over the side. That's when he slams the calendar shut, eyes wide. "Who took these?" he asks, a little out of breath.

She stumbles for a moment, not expecting that reaction. "Nat." He visibly relaxes, but tenses up again when she asks, sounding more meek then he thinks he's ever heard her, "You don't like it?"

He lets out a small chuckle and a long breath. "Baby," he starts, shaking his head, "I fucking love it." She lets loose with a smile so wide it actually causes his chest to ache. "I just don't want you dressing like this for anyone but me."

"It's all for you, babe," she says, crawling into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Natasha used real film and let me watch when she burned the negatives. _That_ was for you too."

He tugs her closer to him and kisses her deeply. After a moment, he pulls back for a breath and drops his head to her shoulder. "Thank you," he whispers into her.

Her fingers are in his hair, gripping tighter as he begins kissing her neck. His hands trail up her back, the fingers on his right finding the clasp of her bra and popping it open with a quick flick. "Should I be worried about how good you are with these vintage undergarments?" At that, he trails his hand along her thigh to unhook the rest of her stocking. She pulls back and looks him in the eye. "If you can get me out of this damn girdle half as fast as the rest, I promise, I'll do anything you want."

He raises an eyebrow at her before slipping a single metal finger into the back of the bodice and tracing it along the corset. "Damn," he utters, legitimately surprised, "this thing is tight."

"I know."

"How are you breathing?"

"Just get it off!"

He brings his other hand around and tears the girdle off in one strong tug. "Better?" he asks, picking her up with him as he stands up from the couch.

She kisses him long and hard as she wraps her legs around his torso. "My hero," she breathes into him as he carries her to the bedroom.


	17. Ringing in the New Year

"You could try a little, that's all I'm saying" she shouts through the bathroom door.

He makes a face in the mirror, rolls his eyes at his full-length reflection. A monkey suit, that's what they used to call it. Do they still call it that? "I _am_ trying," he replies harshly, pulling at his cuffs. Stark had a tailor come in and fit all of the guys for tuxes, but somehow this still just doesn't seem right. The shirt cuffs are too tight around his wrists. The silky fabric feels weird on his metal arm. The pants are too tight. The tailor said they were perfect, they're supposed to fit like that. But he feels like he can't move. And these damn shiny shoes are pinching his toes so bad he wants to scream. But he can't. He can't scream. Because his collar is buttoned all the way up and there's a freaking bowtie around his neck and it's strangling the life out of him.

"Stop it," she says from behind. He has two fingers deep in his collar, tugging, desperately trying to get some air. "Stop. It."

He looks up and catches her reflection in the mirror. Her face is stern, but beautiful. It's always beautiful, but… "Wow," he breathes out. She normally has her hair back in a messy bun or a haphazard ponytail. Her makeup, typically, consists of cherry Chapstick, maybe a little eyeliner if she's going out. When she 'suits up' for a business meeting or a conference she'll throw on some heels, add a bit of mascara, and straighten her hair. The last Stark party they went to was the most dressed up he's ever seen her, and even that was nothing compared to this.

Her hair is collected to one side, loose curls cascading over her shoulder. The dark, blood-red lipstick is striking against her pale skin and dark hair. And the thick, smoky shadow and eyeliner make her green eyes stand out like emeralds in a coal mine.

"You look amazing," he says, eyes glued to her reflection, fingers still in his collar.

"And you," she says, moving to his side, "didn't even shave." She grabs his fingers and tugs them away from his collar, straightens his bowtie as he clears his throat.

"I haven't shaved in 70 years. I'm not gonna start again for Stark." He drops his forehead to hers, slowly slips his metal arm around her lower back, hand falling to her hip. He pulls her closer as he whispers into her hair, "I don't deserve you."

She smiles crookedly. "No. You don't." He leans in to kiss her and she pulls away, twisting out of his grip.

"Hey," he whines, grabbing at her as the lightweight fabric of her dress slips through his fingers.

"No," she says simply, moving to the side of the bed to put on her shoes. "I _just_ got all of this right. I'm not risking it."

"I told you how amazing you look, right?" he asks with an impish grin.

She shrugs. "If I opened my legs every time you gave me a compliment, I'd never get anything done."

"I just wanted a kiss," he says coyly, moving closer to her. "You've got a dirty mind," he mutters into her neck as he nuzzles close. He wraps his arms around her, his hands parting the open fabric at the back of her dress. She jerks involuntarily as his cold metal fingertips begin tracing along her spine. He breathes into her ear, "Not that I'd say no to something more," and he kisses her neck, again and again, slowly moving down to her naked shoulder.

She's frozen for a long moment, balancing on one heel, her other shoeless foot dangling, toes skimming the carpet. But… "Nope," she says finally, once his lips reach her collar bone. She pushes back and turns around, bending down at the waist to help her other shoe on. She presses her hip against his thigh as she does so. She looks back at him, all doe eyed and innocent. "Zip me up?" she asks as she slowly straightens, sliding her hand along the inside of his leg as she goes.

He lets out a strained laugh. "You're evil," he says as he works to find the zipper. He pulls it up slowly, teasingly, and lays a final kiss on her shoulder. "But I love it."

"I know," she says simply, striding out of the room.

He watches her go. The gold silk of her dress drapes loosely over her left shoulder, but it clings tightly to her waist, her hips. He watches as the shimmering fabric glides along her calves with every step, showing only hints of her left leg through the thigh-high slit. "You sure you don't just want to stay in?" he almost whines, trailing behind her. "Think about it. You could ring in the new year with a bunch of stuffy billionaires – "

" _And_ my closest friends," she interjects.

"Eating caviar and shrimp and champagne –"

"Three of my favorite things."

"In a dress that looks _really_ uncomfortable."

"This fits like a glove." She faces him, kicks her leg out from the slit in a mock-model pose, and runs her hands down her body slowly to prove her point.

He raises his eyebrows as he smiles. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Were you about to give me an alternative?" she questions snarkily.

He clears his throat, redirects his gaze from her thigh to her eyes. "Or," he intones, "You could spend the night with me. Here. At home." He's in front of her in two strides. "Naked."

"How 'bout this," she begins, draping her arms around his neck. "You come with me to the party, which I _have_ to go to because Tony would be heartbroken if I didn't show –"

"Oh no. We wouldn't want that."

"And then, if you behave, I'll come back here with you. And get naked."

"How long do we have to stay?"

"'Til the ball drops."

"Is that code for something?"

"No," she replies deadpan.

She drops her arms from around his neck and turns to leave. It's already after eight and this makeup won't last all night.

"What does _behave_ mean?" he asks, tugging at the fabric of his pants. Why were they so tight around his thighs?

"If you have to ask," she throws over her shoulder, "then you're probably not doing it."

He lets out a resigned sigh, slumps his shoulders, and follows her out the door.

They've been at the party for a little over two hours – though it feels like a full eight – when he decides that he just can't take it anymore. He's pulling at his collar again, still actually. He's been doing it all night, even after she loosened his bowtie, rolling her eyes dramatically and telling Steve to look after the _wittle baby_. "This is just…" he shakes his head, struggling to find the words.

"Lame?" Sam offers.

Bucky shoots him a glare, but nods in agreement. He takes another swig of his beer. "I can't even get drunk."

"Tell me about it," Steve laments.

The three men have been clustered together for the better part of an hour now, close enough to the bar to ensure easy access to drinks, but as far as they can get from the throngs of people weaving in and out of the reception hall.

It's pretty impressive actually. Tony – really Pepper – had managed to turn the wide open space that was at first designed to be a second training facility into a ballroom-like hall. It was also a bit ridiculous. Stark had decided to throw this New Year's party as a sort of coming out for the new Avengers' compound. Obviously people wouldn't be allowed into certain areas on the campus. But the ones that did make the tour were practically given a complete makeover for the party. Nothing the men had passed outside of the living quarters was even recognizable to them.

The invitees were mostly politicians who supported the Avengers Initiative, big-wig contributors who had helped fund the new digs, and, of course, the press.

By now, Steve's lost count of how many people have come over to him to shake his hand. Sam's lost count of how many times he's rolled his eyes when these same people ask him how he knows Captain America. And Bucky's lost count of how many beers he's gulped down, desperately hoping that if he has enough, he'll feel at least a little bit tipsy.

"Tessa looks nice," Steve says, looking out across the room at his friend. She's mingling as part of the Avengers _and_ Stark Industries, trying to raise funds for her research, get donations for additional equipment for the team, and, as Tony put it, boost the public image of the organizations by dazzling rich fools with her beautiful smile and brilliant intellect. Bucky thought it sounded like she was being used. Tessa thought it sounded like an opportunity to dress up and have fun talking about her work, promoting the deeds of her family, and also fleecing stuck-up politicians and millionaires out of tens of thousands of dollars… all for a good cause, of course.

" _Nice_ ," Sam repeats, his eyes honing in on her. "She looks unbelievable."

Bucky inhales deeply and almost growls at the man to his right, which elicits an actual giggle from the Falcon. Because unlike the two supersoldiers, Sam _can_ get drunk. And apparently it only takes four beers to get him there.

Bucky follows Steve's eyes out into the crowd and he sees his girl. Her dress is a deep, luminous gold that shines in the low light of the hall. Her head is thrown back in an over-the-top sort of laugh. It's not her normal laugh, no, but it still somehow seems genuine and completely true to her. There are multiple people gathered around her, including Tony and Bruce, all listening to her speak. He knew that Tony wanted her to talk about the medical wing on campus and all of the fancy tech in it. And he wanted her to talk up the wonderful staff, all of whom were being trained in emergency response so that Avengers would be able to "take care of the people whose lives they affected."

But right now she just seems to be schmoozing, and doing a hell of a job at it. He can't help but think, watching her shine at the center of all of these people, that she looks like the sun at the center of her own universe.

"I hate this," he says for the hundredth time, as he downs the rest of his beer and turns towards the bar to grab another.

Steve sighs and follows him, places a hand on his forearm when he rests it on the bar, waiting for the bartender to stop flirting with the debutante at the far end and come serve him. "You know," he says in that _Captain America knows best_ way, "you could _try_ to have fun."

He whips around a little too fast, pulling his arm out of his friend's grasp. "I _am_ trying," he says through gritted teeth.

"Try harder," they hear Natasha voice from behind the bar.

"What are you doing back there?" Steve asks, brow furrowed.

Clint sidles up next to them – truly a stealthy agent as they hadn't even realized he'd been in the building – and reaches out to accept the bottle of bourbon Nat just nicked. "This guy's been playing favorites all night," he says, gesturing wildly towards the bartender at the far end. "It's like he doesn't know who we are."

Natasha pokes around beneath the bar for another moment and comes back with her hands full of bottles of beer. "For the all-Americans," she says, setting them down in front of Bucky and Steve.

"Thanks," Steve says, picking up a bottle and inspecting the label. "This isn't American beer, though." Fucking Stella Artois. Leave it to Stark to only offer expensive crap beer. Bucky takes a long pull from his bottle and continues to stew in silence.

Clint grabs a beer for good measure and leans on the bar in front of them. "So," he says, looking at Bucky, "How was your Christmas?"

The soldier glances up and sees that Barton's got a teasing glint in his eye and a shit-eating grin covering his face. He narrows his eyes at him, but says nothing.

"Tessa told him what she was doing," Natasha mutters. He spins around to find the redhead suddenly at his shoulder. _Freaking ninjas_ , he thinks, shaking his head.

"What was she doing?" Steve pipes up, clearly confused.

"Nothing," Bucky responds.

"She gave him a homemade gift," Clint tells the captain with a wink.

Before Steve can inquire further, Nat jumps in with, "Did she tell you what Barnes got her?"

He shakes his head. "I just got in. Haven't talked to her yet."

Natasha raises a single brow. "He bought her a Ducati. V4. 214 Horsepower."

Clint's mouth falls open. "No shit?" Bucky grins a bit and nods his head. "I got Laura a new washing machine," he says absently.

"Thing's a deathtrap," Steve grouses. "A really nice deathtrap, but a deathtrap."

"Really, Cap," he says, sipping at the bourbon in his right hand while his left continues to hold tight to his beer, "if we only did the things you approved of, no one would ever have any fun around here."

"Thank you." Bucky takes another drink himself and gives Steve a side-eye glare. He really needs to stop talking about how dangerous the bike is. If he doesn't, they might have more than just words.

"I'm just saying –"

"Stop _saying_ and just drink your damn beer."

"Drink my," Steve breathes out. "Buck," he starts, stopping suddenly and shaking his head. "I don't know what your deal is tonight."

"My _deal_ is that I don't want to be here, wearing this… thing. Drinking this beer…"

"Hanging out with _these people_ ," Natasha quips.

"I like these people," Clint says with a pout. He points at Bucky. "This one here, he's half of my new favorite couple."

"And that's really the problem, right?" Steve asks with a quirked brow, a teasing note to his voice. "You just want Tessa all to yourself."

"That's very selfish," Nat mumbles.

"Unless," Steve starts, the glint in his eye growing, "you wanted to have her all to yourself because you wanted to propose tonight?"

"Propose what?" Clint asks flippantly as his eyes dance around the room.

Bucky gives his friend a derisive stare. "I just bought her a _deathtrap_ ," he replies, no emotion in his voice. "I can't afford a ring too."

Steve glances over at Tessa and sees her talking rather intently with Bruce. But when she catches his eye, she smiles and waves. He waves back. "Well, you better ask for a raise then, because you cannot let her get away."

"She's not a wild animal caught in a snare, Steve," Natasha chides.

"I'm just saying, you honestly can't do any better."

Clint and Nat both snigger under their breath as they silently slip away with their bourbon.

Bucky shoots Steve a sideways glare. "Aren't you supposed to say something like, _she's a lucky gal_? Or, even just _I hope you two are happy together_? You're my friend. You're not supposed to tell me I can't do better."

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you think that you _can_ do better?" he asks with mock sincerity.

"No. But that's not the point."

"I'm _her_ friend too. I knew her and loved her before you did."

"Careful."

"You know what I mean," Steve chuckles.

"Yeah, well, I'm your _oldest_ friend, your _best_ friend."

"Are you jealous of my relationship with your fiancée right now?"

"I'm just a little hurt that you think she's so much better than me," he says. "And she's not my fiancée. Stop pushing."

Steve sees Tessa and Bruce split apart, watches her politely shake hands with an older man before skirting past him, moving toward the bar. "Well," he says, turning back to Bucky, "she's an accomplished physician and geneticist. Even Tony thinks she's brilliant, and in case he's never mentioned it to you, _he's_ a genius. She's obviously incredibly patient because… you. She's funny, beautiful, and genuinely one of the most caring people I know. And she has superpowers."

"Powers, maybe. But superpowers? Just relax there, pal."

"And," Steve adds, grabbing a beer for Sam along with his own and pushing off of the bar. "She _will_ be your fiancée just as soon as you man-up and ask her." He glances up and sees that she's just a few strides away, so he nearly whispers the rest. "And she'll be the luckiest gal in the world." He pats his friend on the shoulder and nods a hello to Tessa as she approaches.

"Where are you off to?" she asks, noticing that he's turning to leave.

He holds up the two beers in his hand. "Sam's waiting," he says simply, goofy smile on his face.

She looks questioningly at him as he walks away, noting the _I know something_ look he had about him. "What were you two talking about?" she asks Bucky.

"Nothing," he replies with a shrug. He pivots to face her. "You've been making the rounds," he notes.

"Ah, yes. Boozin' and schmoozin'," she says, downing the rest of her wine and setting the empty glass on the bar. "How 'bout you? Are you behaving?" she asks mockingly.

"Always," he says with an all too fake smile.

Tessa laughs. It's the laugh he knows, big and bright and breathy, not the laugh that he saw her doing for others earlier. She grabs him by the hand suddenly and pulls. "C'mon," she says.

He finishes his beer and moves to quickly to set the bottle down, almost missing the bar as she drags him off. He has a sudden, terrible thought and says, "Do not force me into meeting people." It comes out harsher than he intends, stern.

"You think I'd do that to you?" she asks, stopping short. He almost rams right into her, she halts so fast, and he grabs her around the middle to steady both of them. "Ye of little faith," she says with a smile.

He looks down at her and notices the glassiness to her eyes, the crooked smile "How much have you had to drink?" he asks with a smile of his own.

"How much have _you_ had?" she shoots back.

"A lot. But I can handle it."

She snorts indignantly, an odd sound coming from such an elegant looking woman. And he can't help but laugh. "I can handle it," she assures him, turning and continuing to pull him through the crowd.

"Yeah, okay. Just don't ask me to hold your hair back later when you're puking up red wine everywhere."

"I won't," she says, dragging him into the center of the giant room. They don't stop until they reach the very middle of the dance floor. She turns to face him, wraps her arms around his neck, and says, "Dance with me."

He moves closer to her, a little put off by all the people surrounding them. But his arms are draped around her waist and she's already swaying to the music, and he can't help but enjoy the feel of that. This he can do. He may hate being surrounded by all these people, most of whom he swears are staring daggers into his back. But having a dance with his girl is something he'd never disagree to. "Are you having a good time?" he asks her softly.

"Yeah," she mumbles into his shoulder. "I am now."

"Good," he says, placing a kiss on her head.

The music changes pace slightly, but their slow rocking motion remains the same. She looks up at him, locks onto his brilliant blue eyes. "Thanks for trying," she says with a small smile. And if that doesn't just make him feel like crap.

He starts to say that he's sorry, that he should've acted like a grown up and not some dumb, disappointed kid. He starts to say, again, that he doesn't deserve her and that she's the best and he's the worst and dammit, he'll try harder. Hell, he'll just _try_ , period. But he doesn't get the chance to say any of it. Just as his mouth begins to move, he's elbowed sharply in the side. He whirls around to see Stark looming with an playful grin on his face.

"Hey, Tin Man," Tony says, giving him another little shove. "Move it or lose it."

"Excuse me?" he asks, voice carrying just the slightest hint of an actual threat.

"I want to dance with my favorite team doctor."

"Aw," Tessa declares. "That's so sweet."

Bucky turns on her. "No it's not. He's interrupting."

Tony just shrugs. "Fine. I guess you don't want your Christmas present _slash_ holiday bonus then."

"Do I have to dance with you to get it?" she asks, suspiciously. "Do we have an HR department yet? Because I feel like that's something that I could report you for."

"Adorable," he spits out. Then, whipping an envelope out of his jacket, "Here."

She takes the envelope and gives it a little shake. "Doesn't sound like anything breakable."

He rolls his eyes and faces Bucky. "Really, how do you put up with her?"

"Is it cash monies?" she asks with an impish smile.

"Just open it," he says exhaustedly.

She does, and her brow furrows as she pulls out a small packet. "It's a plane ticket," she says, confusion lacing her words.

"Two, actually. Round trip."

"To the Maldives," she says, still unable to make sense of it.

"Yep. I have a house there. Right on the beach. I don't let just anyone stay there, you know." He turns to Bucky. "And I will notice if anything goes missing."

"I don't understand," she tells him. "You're sending me to the Maldives? Why?"

Tony takes in a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. "My God," he utters. "She doesn't even know what a vacation is."

"You're sending me on a vacation?"

"Yes," he nearly shouts. "How hard is that to decipher? Two tickets to a romantic, tropical paradise…"

Her eyes widen. "You're sending _us_ on a vacation?"

He leans forward and grasps her shoulders. "Look, kid, you've been putting up with a lot lately. I know I've been asking for a lot. But you do it… you do it everything I ask. Tonight… have you heard what people are saying about the plans for the med team? That might just be the biggest take away of this whole evening. And it's all because of you."

She shakes her head slowly. "The med team was your idea."

"Yeah, fine, you're right. I'm a genius." He drops his hands down from her shoulders and takes hold of her hands, gives them each a small squeeze as he says, "But I couldn't have done it without you."

A bright smile slowly blooms across her face, the joy and appreciation radiating from her so intense that Bucky feels his chest tighten just watching her. "Thanks, Tony," she says simply, a bit shyly.

"You're welcome." He drops her hands and spins around, patting Bucky roughly on the shoulder as he goes. "You leave tomorrow afternoon," he throws over his shoulder.

"But – " she starts.

She's cut off by Tony's shout of, "And I _will_ get that dance," just before he gets sucked back into the crowd.


	18. The Maldives

Tony's _house_ is absolutely amazing. Of course, it's far more than just another getaway spot for the billionaire. It's the first of several planned ( _extremely_ ) high-end villas in one of the most sought-after tourist destinations in the world. "He's actually going to start a resort," Tessa hums in awe as they enter the ocean-side palace.

"That is correct," says a voice coming from… somewhere. "Oh, I'm so sorry," the slightly accented voice goes on after noticing the startled response from Bucky. Tessa is too busy exploring her new surroundings to pay much attention to the computerized creation. Besides, she talks to Friday so much that having a voice in the walls somehow seems completely normal to her. "My name is Nisa."

Bucky grunts in response. "Makes sense," he mutters. "When in Rome…"

"Oh, you are not in Rome, sir. You are in Baa Atoll, the Maldives."

"Thank you," he deadpans as he finds the master suite and drops off their luggage.

"You're welcome. Would you like to know a bit about the area?"

In unison, both Bucky and Tessa respond… he with an adamant "No," and she with an excited, "Yes, please."

"Perhaps I'll give you some time to settle into the villa first," Nisa suggests. "Your chef will arrive at six to prepare your first meal." _Chef_ , Tessa mouths to Bucky, a look of pure joy on her face. "Until then, you have the villa and surrounding beach to yourselves. Please do let me know if there's anything I can assist you with."

"Thank you, Nisa!" Tessa flops down on the king-size bed, splaying her arms and legs out as far as they'll go. "It's _huge_ ," she breathes out, turning to roll over onto her stomach. She looks over at Bucky, who's standing nervously in the doorway, and wiggles her eyebrows at him. "Wanna take it for a spin?"

"It doesn't make you nervous at all? All of the… tech? The disembodied voices?" He pushes off the doorframe and moves to the side of the bed.

She army crawls over to him and reaches her hands around to grab onto his upper thighs. "Nope," she says, tugging at him.

He lays his hands on her shoulders to steady himself, seemingly unfazed by her attempts to get him into the bed. His eyes ping suspiciously around the room. "I feel like Stark could be watching us."

"Ugh," she lets out dramatically, dropping her hold on him and sitting up onto her knees. "That's gross." She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a long, deep kiss. When she releases him and sits back on her heels, she can see that his face is only a _teeny_ bit more relaxed. She rolls her eyes. "Tony's a lot of things. But he's not a voyeur." She scoots to the edge of the bed and jumps up. "His life is far too exciting for him to care about what other people do with theirs."

"Where are you going?" He spins around to follow her as she glides through the double glass doors. Just outside of the bedroom is a large deck that overlooks the ocean. At the edge of the deck, built into the steep rock face is an infinity pool surrounded by the most beautiful tropical garden.

"I'm dead," she states, standing stark still in the center of the deck. "I've died and gone to Heaven."

She turns around and takes in Bucky's expression. He's gazing out over the serene blue waters, the bright white beach that lies below. He doesn't seem quite as awestruck as she is, but his face is noticeably more relaxed, and intrigued. He shifts his gaze to her and his face softens even further, a genuine smile taking over. "We should probably go for a swim," he states simply, a glimmer in his eye.

Tessa takes no time at all stripping down, flipping her flats off and launching them across the deck as she shimmies out of her pants. She doesn't bother to undo the buttons on her linen shirt, opting instead to yank it off along with the tight tank top underneath. But she somehow gets caught in the two shirts and Bucky has to come rescue her.

He's laughing like a maniac as he helps to peel the clothing off of her. In the process, some of her hair gets stuck between the metal plates of his palm and she screeches in pain. That only makes him laugh harder. "Hold on," he says, somewhat out of breath. "Just give me a sec." And he works the clump of hair loose with his right hand.

Once she's free, she shakes out her hair and reaches around to undo her bra. "You're still dressed," she chides him, noting that he hasn't so much as removed his shoes.

"Yeah, well, I was going to go inside and change. I didn't realize we brought bathing suits for nothing."

She tosses him her bra and shimmies out of her panties. "You heard the disembodied voice. We have the whole place to ourselves." She cocks a single brow at him and puts her hands on her naked hips. "There are no clothes needed in Heaven," she says. "So I plan to stay naked all day."

He breathes out deeply, wide smirk on his face. "I have never loved you more than I do right now," he says before quickly shedding his shoes and running full force at her. She squeals with surprise as he grabs her and leaps into the pool.

They spend the next several hours either in the pool or right beside it, laughing, kissing, talking, and baking in the sun. They lose all track of time until Nisa calls out to them to tell them that their dinner is ready and waiting in out on the front terrace. Tessa throws on a T-shirt and nothing else. And Bucky can barely focus on anything but that fact… until he actually takes a bite of the food.

"Oh my God," Tessa moans out, mouth full. "I feel so bad eating this, but it's soooo good." She looks over at him and sees a similar look of delight on his face.

"Is it the fact that it still has a face that makes it so much better than other fish?"

"It's staring at me," she says, tearing into it with her fork. "But I can't stop."

It may well be the best meal either of them has ever eaten.

They head back to the pool after and watch the sun set from matching lounge chairs. Just as Bucky's about to drift off, he hears the creak of the chair and feels the weight of his girl in his lap. She squeezes her knees tight around his hips and leans down to nibble at his neck. "Wake up," she whispers in his ear as her fingers lazily drift around his waistband. He grins and sighs contentedly, but doesn't open his eyes. "I'm naked again," she singsongs, sitting back on her heels.

He brings both of his hands up to the small of her back and slowly blinks his eyes open. The moon is very nearly full and almost every star is visible in the sky. But all he can see is the beauty sitting before him, her skin luminescent in the moonlight. He runs his fingertips delicately up her sides and tenderly cups each breast. But he makes no move to sit upright, or to speak, or to do anything other than silently gaze up at her.

"What, baby?" she asks with a small frown. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. "Absolutely nothing in the world," he tells her before wrapping her up in his arms and carrying her inside.

000

The rest of their trip is… less than ideal.

They begin Day 2 by waking to crisp, warm sunshine beaming in through the glass doors. Another day in paradise. They decide to start the day with a shower. Together. But the huge rain shower is freshly minted with the smoothest of granite, and the moment that Bucky makes a move to hike Tessa up around his hips, his heel slides out from under him. They both go down. Hard. Bucky splits the back of his head open on the corner of the built-in bench and bleeds _everywhere_.

"Just stop," Tessa tells him as he tries to stand back up. "Wait." She hurriedly tries to scurry over him to get out of the shower and grab some towels. But her feet fly out from under her as well and she drops a knee into Bucky's gut, knocking the wind out of him.

By the time she manages to get him into bed, the bathroom looks like a murder scene. He refuses any sort of medical treatment – _it'll heal on its own_ – so she quickly dresses the wound with some gauze from the first aid kit that Nisa directed them to, and positions a towel behind his head in case the dressing starts to weep.

Tessa spends the next hour and a half scrubbing the bathroom. Bucky spends the rest of the day lying in bed, watching as the ceiling spins above him.

That night he starts to feel better, so they take dinner out on the terrace again. It's amazing and delicious and absolutely perfect. And it seems that their shit day is about to become just another sad, silly memory. Bucky's already joking about how the worst part was her knobby knee collapsing his diaphragm.

At the dinner table, Tessa embarks on a journey of self-discovery. First, she unearths a new favorite food.

"How have you never had mango?" Bucky asks her.

"I don't know," she replies with cheeks full of the sweet, succulent fruit. "But I'm never gonna stop eating it."

Just a few short minutes later, she makes another discovery – she's deathly allergic to mango.

They spend the next several hours at the closest hospital. It is _not_ the nice tourist hospital where westerners are treated like the rich near-royalty they often are. This is the place the locals go, and poor locals at that. Neither of them are at all convinced that they'll make it out of there without a raging staph infection. By the time they finally get back to the villa, it's almost sunrise and Tessa has so much Benadryl in her system that Bucky has to carry her to bed.

Day 3 consists of Tessa, still somewhat puffy, tossing and turning and scratching at hives while Bucky hangs out by the pool. He falls asleep in the mid-afternoon sun, his metal arm uncovered as it lies beside him on the wooden lounge chair. No big deal. Until he shifts in his sleep and rolls over onto the arm, giving himself a massive second-degree burn across his torso.

Day 4 starts out with Tessa demanding that they get out and do something fun. "Let's go snorkeling!" she tries.

But Bucky hates the water. Well, he hates the idea of being _under_ the water. Ever since Steve almost drown at Coney Island and he went in after him and got sucked out by a riptide. So… "No. No way in hell."

The compromise, it seems, is to sit on the beach together all afternoon, silently stewing.

The moment they arrive back at the villa, Nisa tells Tessa that she's had several phone calls and texts come in from New York. "It's Claire," she tells Bucky, as though mentioning the name of her assistant is enough to explain why she has to spend the next four hours combing through some sort of statistical analysis of _something_ on her laptop.

And how is it that the laptop is even here? "I thought I took that out of your bag," he says, watching her from the doorway to the sitting room. His arms are folded over his chest, his face drawn and pinched.

"You did," she responds shortly. "Which was rude." She looks back up at him, takes in his almost threatening posture, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh. "I repacked it," she says simply, turning her focus to her work.

They do not eat dinner together on the terrace that night.

Day 5, the final day, begins with Bucky waking to find the bed empty, save a note that says simply, _Went for a swim_. He heads to the far end of the deck that overlooks the beach below, and he sees her lazily floating on her back about thirty feet out. Every so often she rolls over and freestyles against the current for several minutes before pausing to catch her breath and bask in the early morning sun. Then she lets go again and floats closer to the shore. He watches her intently. Observes how relaxed she seems as she lets the ocean guide her, falling back against the waiting water so it can pull her back to where she started. Then, all at once, she's at it again, fighting the tide, straining to move forward, struggling to get… somewhere.

He shakes his head and lets out a strange, small laugh. "You and me both, babe," he mutters under his breath. "You and me both."


	19. Dr CBC

They've been home for just about a week now and their vacation from the everyday already seems like a distant, hazy memory.

After reuniting with everyone that first night back, and sharing their misadventures over pizza and beer, they quickly settle back into their routines. For Bucky, that means helping Natasha train Sam and Wanda in hand-to-hand, which is actually way more fun than he'll ever admit. In part it's great because the Widow is a worthy adversary – and she sure as shit can take a punch – so the two can tussle all day long without having to go easy on each other. And in part it's great because it means that Bucky gets to beat up on Sam – _daily_ – without any guilt. Because it's all in the interest of making him better and building the best team possible.

When he's not training, he's working with Steve to bring in potential new recruits. That job's not quite as fun and exciting, but it's important. And it keeps him busy. Or it keeps him at least somewhat occupied so that he feels like he's finally doing _something_. He'll take that for now.

As for Tessa, the moment they arrived back at the compound, she scurried off to the lab – _just to check in_ – and he's barely seen her since. Actually, he's pretty sure that the pizza they shared that first night back was the last meal they'd had together.

She came home last night after a trip into the city sniffling and coughing and looking generally awful – _It's cold and flu season… And_ everyone _is sick_ – and went to bed around eight. So he's not at all surprised when he wakes the next morning to the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of a terrible, hacking cough coming from the other room. He groans to himself and turns his face down into the pillow for a long moment before finally rolling out of bed.

"Just tell him I'm on my way in," he hears her say as he pads into the kitchen. Her voice is gravelly and thick as she issues a "yeah, fine," into the phone before hanging up and slamming the cell down onto the counter. Her eyes close as she leans over the countertop and rests her head on the cabinet in front of her.

"I can hear you wheezing from here," he tells her, leaning in the kitchen doorway.

She doesn't turn around, barely even moves except for the slight shrug of her shoulders. "Max is… being Max," she says defeatedly.

"And that means you have to go in and straighten shit out?"

She nods, her forehead rubbing along the smooth wood grain of the cabinet door. "After coffee."

He exhales, long and loud before moving across the room to the coffee pot. He reaches up and pulls two mugs out of the cabinet, dumps some sugar in one, and fills them each with the dark, steamy liquid. She turns to him, exaggerated frown on her face, and reaches over to pull her mug across the counter. The fact that she doesn't remove her head from the cabinet, or seem to have the strength to lift her mug up to bring it to her, is just so over-the-top pathetic that he has to work to keep his amusement from showing.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asks, already knowing the answer. She shakes her head and tries to stifle a particularly wet-sounding cough. "C'mon," he says with a sigh. "C'mere."

She practically falls into him when he reaches for her, her head curling into the crook of his neck as her arms wrap around his lower back. "I'm okay," she grumbles into him, and he can't help but laugh.

"That was convincing." She pulls away and looks up at him with a fiery glare. "You look like crap," he tells her, small smile still on his face.

Her head drops to his chest and in the most pathetic voice possible she croaks out, "You're mean." The chuckle that reverberates through him and into her causes the corner of her mouth to quirk up just slightly. But the almost smile completely disappears the minute her phone starts buzzing next to them.

He groans loudly and wraps his arms tighter around her. "Ignore it."

But that's just not going to happen. Her entire demeanor shifts when she pulls away from him. "Claire?" she says into the phone, an irritated rather than pitiful look on her face. "Claire, just tell him – " She twists on her heel to look Bucky in the face, rolls her eyes and quirks her jaw side to side in that way that means she is _damn_ fed up. "Alright!" she snaps suddenly. "Give me five minutes. For fuck's sake…" And she hangs up the phone and marches angrily out of the kitchen.

He follows her to the bedroom where she quickly strips down out of the shorts and T-shirt she'd worn to bed and pulls on a pair of jeans in an enraged sort of huff. "What are you doing?"

She spins in a circle, her eyes scanning the room for something. But the motion makes her dizzy and she has to drop her hand to the bed to regain balance. "Where are my shoes?"

"How 'bout a shirt, doll?"

She glances back to find him standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. He's got his eyebrows raised as he assesses her in that _are you serious right now?_ way of his. Instead of confronting the look, she reaches down and picks up the T-shirt she just shed and pulls it back over her head. That would do for now. She sees her shoes by the closet, so she quickly grabs them and heads for the door. But Bucky doesn't move, his muscular frame blocking her path.

"What are you doing?" he asks again, as though he doesn't know the answer.

"I have to go to the lab."

"You're sick."

"I'm fine."

"Thirty seconds ago you were acting like you were at death's door."

She purses her lips tightly together. "I have to go. Please move."

He unfolds his arms, but doesn't step aside. Instead he brings his metal palm up to her forehead. The temperature sensors tell him the same thing that her inadvertent lean into him does. "You have a fever."

His hand feels so good on her face that she almost relents and leans further into it. But Max is refusing to put together the report that Tony needs _today_. And Donahue is threatening to quit because he doesn't feel like he's valued, whatever the hell that means. And the holographic interface is on the fritz _again_. And Claire can't deal with any of it because _it's only my job to make you aware of these things, not to fix them_. So she shakes him off and levels him with her most intimidating stare. "You need to move."

In the span of about five seconds, the look on his face shifts from concerned to disappointed to pissed off. "You're a doctor," he spits out at her, as though that should be enough for her to realize that you don't head into the office when you have a fever.

"Exactly. _I'm_ a doctor. And _I'm_ telling you, I'm fine."

"You're so full of shit," he says with a sardonic laugh. But he moves out of her way just the same, cocking his head in the direction of the hall as he gives her just enough space to squeeze past him. "You're an idiot."

She slides into the kitchen on socked feet, her sneakers still in her hand, and grabs her full cup of coffee to take with her to the lab downstairs. When she turns to head out, she finds him standing in the kitchen doorway. "Are you going to block every door in the building?"

He gives her an irritated look, his patience more than wearing thin. But he doesn't actually block her path, instead he holds up a banana for her. She wrinkles her nose, but grabs it from his hand as she passes. "Eat it," he grumbles at her, the angry command being the last thing she hears before slamming the apartment door.

000

When she gets back about five hours later, she looks just terrible. "It's your own damn fault," he tells her when she collapses on the couch beside him.

He wants to be mad at her, might still be if he hadn't gone and worked the bag for a couple hours before sparring with Sam. But he's finding it really hard to be anything other than concerned once she curls up into him and says lamely into his side, "I know."

She lets loose with a coughing fit so bad that he can feel her body seize up next to him. He sets down the book he'd been reading – _The Art of War_ , a gift from Natasha – and pats her back to help her through it. When it's over, she's left completely out of breath. He scoots down so that he's laying down next to her and he wraps his right arm around her middle. "Did you take anything?" he asks as he brings his metal hand up to her face.

Just as he assumed she would, she curls into it, closing her eyes as he traces over her cheekbone with his thumb. "I took some Tylenol when I got down there."

Her voice sounds just awful, but she doesn't feel as hot as she did this morning, so he figures she's probably telling the truth. "You should take some more."

"I thought _I_ was the doctor."

He smiles softly as she looks up at him with glassy eyes. "I can run you a bath. The steam will help."

She shifts down further between him and the couch cushions and nods. "In a minute, maybe." She lets out a ragged sigh as she settles in deeper. "I think I need to get rid of Max."

Tessa and Max have had a contentious relationship for as long as he's known her. But she had always talked about how brilliant he was and how his ideas are _magic_. They seemed a lot like Tony and Steve to him – not at all on the same page about most things, but still working well together to complete the report. "Can you do that?"

"Yeah," she says with disdain. "It's my lab. I'm in charge."

"Didn't Tony hire him?"

"It's _my_ lab." She lets out a huff as she hoists herself into a nearly sitting position, hovering over him when she says. "He doesn't respect me. He's _interested_ in the work. But he doesn't _respect_ the work. And honestly, he doesn't really seem to _want_ to work."

Bucky shifts into a sitting position as well so they can be eye to eye. "Then cut him loose."

"I am _sick_ ," she starts, seemingly ignoring his comment. "But I still came in today. I came in to fix _his_ problem and do the work _he_ couldn't be bothered to do." Her voice rises and starts to hit octaves that are so high that it comes out in pathetic sounding squeaks. "I am there every day. _Every_ day. And I do it while also taking care of all you idiots and building a new med team and… doing whatever else Tony asks." He watches as her eyes begin to tear up, and not just from sinus congestion. "I mean, I know I can be a pain. I know. But…" she stops suddenly and looks over at him. "Do you think I have a stick up my ass?"

Admittedly, he's caught off guard by the question, but he can see how upset she is, so he quickly stifles the chuckle rising in his throat. "No, I don't."

"Well, Max does. And he says that's why Donahue wants to leave. To get away from Dr. CBC." She pauses and begins picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. "That's what they call me," she says with such a despondency that it very nearly breaks his heart.

"What does it mean?" He reaches out and tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

She sniffles. "You don't want to know."

"Try me," he says, his voice growing harsh. Tessa may be stubborn and demanding, and he's sure she's as hard on the people she works with as she is on herself. But she's also the most genuinely caring person he's ever known. All of her research has been to help others – to find cures for diseases that ravage entire populations, or to create adequate genetic testing to be able to catch illness in its earliest stages. And she cares for the Avengers and adjacent personnel, always dropping everything to run to their aid when any of them are sick or hurt, even though there are other physicians on the team who could treat them. And the way she talks about her people, the pride she has in them, the admiration she feels for them… how could they possibly call her names behind her back?

She looks at him for a long moment, clearly assessing whether or not she should tell him. The fact that she's so hesitant to say what it means, makes his jaw tense and his stare harden. "Controlling Bitch Cunt," she says finally, looking back down at her hands.

His face twists in anger. " _Excuse_ me?" And he almost knocks her off the couch as he jumps up. "Who _exactly_ called you that?"

She can almost feel the rage radiating off of him, and she immediately regrets telling him anything. In her mind, telling him was just going to ensure that at least _one_ person would be on her side. She knew he'd be angry, but the angry reaction he was sure to have would simply reinforce the righteous anger and hurt that she feels.

But she should have known it wouldn't be that simple. Not with James. He isn't just some regular guy who'd get pissed about his girl being insulted and then fume while mumbling threats and curses under his breath. No, the man standing before her was someone who was capable of, and seemingly willing to do, much more than that.

She shakes her head absently. "It's a joke. Really. It's a play on words." She looks up at him and sees his nostrils flare. He quirks his head to the side as if to say, _Did I just hear you right?_ "CBC," she says with forced enthusiasm. "Complete Blood Count. It's a test, you know?" He continues to stand completely still, looming over her in a way that's making even her nervous and uncomfortable. So she turns away when she says, "I think they just had the first C, which is fine. I am controlling. I know that. And really I can be a bitch. A real bitch. I know that too."

"Stop it." The words come out deep and slow and through gritted teeth. She doesn't even recognize it as being his voice. In their nearly two years together, he's been achingly careful to keep anything remotely resembling the _soldier_ away from her. Aside from that one terrible night when he hadn't even really been awake or aware enough to keep him at bay, the closest she's come to seeing the soldier was when they were in Sokovia. But that one awful night she was half asleep herself, and too concerned for him to see the threat. And in Sokovia the world was ending, so she wasn't paying much attention to his overall demeanor.

But this… this quiet rage… this certainly seems like the man she's heard so much about.

"James," she starts, taking a sharp inhale and closing her eyes to avoid looking at his stony face. "I'm sorry." She shakes her head and feels tears stinging behind her eyes. "I shouldn't have said anything. I don't even care about the nickname. It's stupid. I'm just angry. And tired. And I can't breathe. And…" The tears start to squeeze their way out of her tightly closed eyes and she bites back a sob so suddenly that she nearly chokes on it.

He's back by her side in a second, pulling her close and rubbing soft circles into her back with his right hand. "Shh, baby," he whispers to her as he tucks her head into the crook of his neck. "It's alright."

He can feel her hot tears on his shoulder as she mumbles into him, "Don't be mad."

He pulls back and places his hands on her shoulders, ducks his head a bit to capture her red rimmed eyes with his own. "I'm not mad at you," he says, a hint of shock to his voice. "Do you think I'm mad at you?" She shakes her head, but he sees hesitation in her eyes and a hint of… fear? _Oh. Oh crap._ His hands make their way up to her face, cupping her cheeks. "Do you think I'm going to hurt them?" he asks quietly as he uses the pads of his thumbs to swipe at her tears.

"No," she says firmly, shaking her head as much as she can while he still has a hold on her.

"I don't want anyone to talk about you like that. Not anyone. Not ever. And I'm going to go down there and tell them that," he says, the dark, steely quality permeating his voice once more.

"No," she interjects firmly.

But he continues on as though she hadn't spoken. "But I wouldn't _hurt_ them. That's not me. Not anymore." He says the words, _thinking_ they're true, though a voice in the back of his head reminds him that he doesn't really believe they are, not completely anyway. He absolutely could and would be the kind of person who would hurt them, or anyone else who messed with his girl. But it kills him to think that she'd see him as the kind of man who would harm someone – or _kill_ someone – over a workplace spat and some nasty name calling. "You believe me, right?"

"I know," she says before falling into a coughing fit. He rubs and pats her back to ease her through it. When it's over, she looks up a him, her gaze fierce despite the tears still glistening in her eyes. "You can't go down there, though," she tells him. "I can't have my big, scary boyfriend go fight my battles for me."

"Your battles are the only ones I want to fight."

"James," she starts, her breath still catching. "Jamie… just let it go."

He understands what she's asking, of course. If he goes down there and _talks_ to them, then her authority is shot. But he was also raised to believe that you stand up for the people you love, especially the _woman_ you love. You protect her with everything you've got. And if anyone hurts her, in any way, you put them in their damn place. "Are you going to fire him?" he asks finally.

"Probably." She leans her head back down on his shoulder and he feels her shiver. "I'll need to talk to Tony. But I just don't want to think about it now. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"I want you to talk to me about the things that bother you. I want you to tell me if someone, or something, upsets you." This is a conversation they've had many times before. Because as much as either of them complains about having had a rough day at work or being fed up with a colleague, somehow her stories and complaints always seem to end without any details about what _actually happened_ or what's _really bothering_ her. He used to think that she just wanted to compartmentalize and keep work at work and home at home, but now he's wondering if it might be more than just that. "You know you can do that, right? Talk to me about things?"

She nods into him. "I know. I know. But I honestly feel like shit right now." She sniffles once before letting out another round of deep coughs.

"Okay," he says rising from the couch and pulling her with him. "Let's get you into a bath." He drops her hand once they're up and heads into the large hall bath. "Go take some more Tylenol and I'll run the water."

She moves so slowly that the deep soaking tub is nearly full by the time she enters the bathroom. "You gonna join me?" she asks with a tired wink as she slips off her jeans.

"No," he says with a smile. "It's not that kind of bath. This is a relaxing, healing bath." He helps her with shirt before leaning back over to turn off the faucet. "Besides, somebody has to go get you some cough syrup before you hack up half a lung."

She gives him a sad, knowing look. "Please don't talk to Max." Her eyes are somehow both commanding and pleading, and he can't help but wonder how this woman isn't able to get every single thing she wants out of life. She's certainly able to get anything out of him.

"I won't."

"I mean it, Jamie. Please. Let me handle it."

He takes her by the shoulders and locks eyes with her. "I promise you, I won't talk to Max. Not now, at least." She gives him the smallest of smiles and chokes on another cough. "Get in the tub," he tells her. "And don't drown before I get back."

There's a small grocery on the opposite side of the compound, a commissary of sorts. So he's able to get the cough syrup and some Nyquil and get back to the living quarters in about 20 minutes. But he lingers outside the apartment just long enough to make a quick phone call to Tony Stark so that he can relay just what shitty employees he has in his labs. He knows Tessa will be pissed when she finds out. But hearing Tony's _those little motherfuckers_ over the phone, and knowing that she won't have to worry about firing them, is enough to take away _some_ of the desire he has to punch their smug lab rat faces in.


	20. The Why I Love You Iceberg

"Why is it so cold?" Tessa whines dramatically as she shuffles into the kitchen.

Bucky turns to face her, frowns at the dark circles under her eyes, the deep red of her nose. "It's not cold. You're just sick." He slaps her hand away when she reaches in front of him to get at the coffee. "No," he says pointedly, one brow raised in a _that's an order_ way.

She rolls her eyes at him, even though he's not looking, too busy pulling out the OJ and pouring her a giant glass. "You're not my mother," she says, voice raw and nasal.

He hands her the glass and raises his metal fingers to her forehead. "You're still warm."

"No, I told you, I'm freezing."

There's a knock at the door, but as per usual, Steve barges in before giving anyone the opportunity to answer. "Hey," he says making his way into the kitchen. "You ready?" Bucky gives him a nod and he pivots to say good morning to Tessa, but "Oh, God," falls from his lips instead.

She's still in the T-shirt she slept in and her hair is a giant, tangled mess from tossing and turning all night. Her eyes and nose are bright red, the rest of her face – save the dark circles under her eyes – is so pale that she's almost translucent. The moment Steve glances over at her, she lets loose with a wet-sounding fit of coughs that nearly doubles her over.

The look on Steve's face is one of pure of horror.

"Yeah," Bucky says downing the rest of his coffee. "Tessa's sick."

"I'm dying," she chokes out between coughs.

Bucky hands her a tissue once the coughing subsides and she blows her nose, long and loud. "She has a cold."

"Are you sure that's _it_?" Steve asks with an uncertain look.

"It's the flu," Tessa tells him with a final wipe of her raw nose. "Katerina got it from her boyfriend's kid and brought it into the lab and now it's chosen me as its host." She tosses the tissue and tries to run her fingers through her hair only to nearly get them stuck in the mess of unruly curls piled on top of her head. "Of course, you two assholes don't have to worry about things like the flu," she says with disdain as she starts to desperately tug and pull at the ponytail holder stuck in her hair.

Bucky reaches into a drawer and pulls out some kitchen shears. "Steve and I are going to go for a run," he tells her as he reaches up and carefully cuts the rubber band before she pulls out all of her hair. "I made you some toast," he indicates the plate on the counter.

She eyes the food and wrinkles her nose. "There's fruit on that."

"Yeah," he says, setting a couple of pills on the plate. "And you're gonna eat it. _And_ you're gonna drink that orange juice. And take that medicine."

She stares directly into his crystal clear, gray-blue eyes with her puffy, red-rimmed, ravaged ones. Then she reaches over to pluck the pills from the plate. Never breaking eye contact, she tosses them into her mouth and swallows them dry.

"Seriously?" he asks her, completely deadpan.

"I'm going back to bed."

She lumbers past Steve, who, even though he's almost incapable of getting sick, still recoils from her as though she's spreading the plague. "She is the _worst_ ," he whispers once she's mostly out of earshot.

Bucky exhales a long, drawn-out sigh. "Is it wrong that I almost want her to be sick enough to be admitted to the hospital?"

Steve gives him a disappointed look.

"Not life-threateningly… just sick enough that professionals have to take care of her."

"I'm changing my assessment. _You_ are the worst."

Bucky smiles dully as they leave. "Hey," he says once they hit the elevator, "I wanted to ask you something."

Steve punches in Ground Floor and nods absently. "Okay."

"Just – " he starts, quickly slamming his mouth shut when the elevator doors open to reveal Natasha.

She raises a single assessing brow and looks the men up and down, taking in their outdoor apparel. "You're seriously going to go out into that frozen tundra?" she asks with amusement.

They got a break in the freezing temperatures just after New Years, but a couple of days ago the temps dropped again and another five inches of snow came their way. Truth be told, both Bucky and Steve had a bit of a problem with the snow – being frozen for decades tends to leave a guy with a bit of a disdain for the cold. But there's only so much time a person can spend in the Avengers gym – grand though it may be – before he starts to go stir crazy.

"Aren't you from Russia?" Steve asks, shooting her a smirk.

"Yeah, and there's a reason I left." She sweeps by them and into the elevator as they disembark. "Have fun, boys," she intones with a small wave as the doors close.

The minute they exit the building, the second thoughts hit them, almost as harshly as the bitter wind slaps them in the face. "Maybe this was a bad idea," Bucky mumbles, harshly pulling on a stocking cap. "I fucking hate the cold."

Steve tugs at his gloves and lifts up the hood on his jacket. "You can handle it," he says with a grin. "Oh, hey, what were you gonna ask me before?"

Bucky doesn't look at him, instead he stares off into the distance, taking in the snow-covered trees and reveling in the utter stillness that lay before them. "I was thinking," he says slowly as they begin to walk towards the trail that leads out into the woods. It won't be cleared, but, as Steve had convinced him yesterday, _the challenge is what makes it fun_.

"Yeah," Steve drawls out when his friend falls silent beside him.

"Do you think she'd say yes?" His brow is deeply furrowed beneath his cap, and his words are filled with a sort of hesitation and doubt as he goes on. "At the party, you made it seem like…if I asked Tess to marry me… It sounded like you figured she'd say yes."

To Steve's credit, he doesn't simply laugh out a _yeah, duh, of course she would_. Instead he takes a moment to actually think about it. "You two have been through a lot. I mean, for only having been together, what a year?"

"Almost two."

"She really loves you," he says, swiveling around and continuing their trek backwards so that he can face his friend. "I know she has some… qualms about relationships or… family. She didn't exactly have a normal family growing up."

Bucky stops short and locks eyes with him. "That's what I'm afraid of. I know she loves me. And we're happy together. But… sometimes she… I'm afraid it might scare her off."

"Have you two actually ever talked about marriage? Or having a family?"

Bucky's eyes get wide. "Like having _kids_? No. God no."

"You don't have to say it like that," he counters with a laugh.

"No, it's just… I don't know." He starts moving again, picking up the pace as they near the trail. "I guess I was just thinking about it some… after what you said. And after our trip." He swallows hard and shakes his head. "I don't know."

"Well," Steve breathes out, catching up to him. "For what it's worth, I think you two would have amazing kids. Of course they'd be stubborn as hell and absolute pains in the ass – "

"Hey," Bucky chides, tossing the words of his shoulder as he starts to run headlong into the woods. "Be careful. Those are my kids you're talking about."

000

When he gets back from the run, he finds her curled into a nest of blankets on the couch. Instead of watching trashy TV, though, she's got her laptop open up as she scrolls through spreadsheets. "Are you working right now?" he asks, looming over her.

"Go take a shower," she says, without looking up. "Even I can smell you."

On his way back to the shower, he notices that the meal he made her is sitting half eaten on the breakfast bar. _Better than nothing_. And when he enters the bedroom, he's surprised to find that the bed is neatly made – minus the comforter, which is currently wrapped around the woman in the other room. As he strips down and steps into the shower, he sees that the bathroom is clean too, and the wastebasket that had been overflowing with used tissues is now empty.

"You feeling better?" he asks when he finally makes his way back into the living room. The shower was long and hot, and nearly every window and mirror in the apartment is now steamed up. She merely shrugs, so he reaches down and feels her forehead. Still warm. "You didn't have to clean up," he tells her, picking up her feet from the other side of the couch and sliding himself beneath them. "I would've done it."

"I left you the plate of fruit toast, if you want to clean something." She peers at him over the screen of her laptop, but he can't really see her eyes because of the reflection on her glasses.

"You didn't eat much. Are you hungry?" His hands begin running soothing lines up and down her fleece-covered shins as he offers her a smile. She closes the laptop and stares at him with a stern look. "What?"

"Stop trying to take care of me."

His hands freeze on her legs. Dumfounded, he says simply, "Excuse me?"

She pulls her feet out of his lap. "I'm a full-grown woman. I can take care of myself." Her words are sharp and clipped, but her voice is still so ragged and pathetic-sounding that he almost laughs.

"You're sick. I'm just trying to help."

"Well, stop."

"You know, for the record, if you _can_ take care of yourself, maybe you should." He rises quickly from the couch and storms into the kitchen, grabbing the breakfast dish on the way. "Instead of not eating and trying to live off of coffee and energy drinks."

"I was doing just fine on coffee and energy drinks before you came around and tried to take them away from me!" she shouts after him, her voice breaking when it reaches a certain pitch.

He throws away the half-eaten food, rinses the plate, and turns to lean in the doorway, scowling at her from across the room. "What is your problem?"

The laptop clatters to the floor as she works to free herself from the blankets surrounding her. In the most indelicate way possible, she finally extracts herself and marches over to him. "Tony fired Max," she spits out in disgust.

He leans forward, so close that their noses almost touch, and he bites back, "Good."

"Jesus Christ!" She turns and begins pacing in the small hallway. "This isn't 1945, James! I didn't need you coming to my rescue!"

"You really think I wasn't going to say something? After what he did?"

"What he _did_?" She plants herself in front of him once more. "What did he do? Called me a name?"

"That's not something you call a lady," he issues between gritted teeth.

She lets out a huge, fake guffaw. "A _lady_?" She begins to laugh in earnest, the bitter chortle quickly leading to a coughing fit.

"Don't make fun of me," he says simply. "Believing what's right is right and what's wrong is wrong doesn't make me old fashioned. And for the record, Stark seemed just as pissed, so don't tell me that I'm overreacting."

"I told you I would handle it," she says quietly, still rasping. "I fucking _begged_ you to let _me_ handle it." Between everything – the coughing and the congestion, the embarrassment and the anger – she's suddenly in tears in front of him.

"I said I wouldn't talk to him, and I didn't," he says, averting his eyes. He knows he's not wrong for what he did. Hell, if anything, the more he thinks about it, he wonders if he's wrong for _only_ getting the son of a bitch fired and not actually caving his skull in.

"You betrayed me."

He laughs. "Don't be so fucking dramatic."

"You undermined me. You went behind my back. To my boss. You made it seem like I couldn't handle the situation –"

He pulls himself from the doorframe and moves over to her, looks her directly in the eye as he says, "Then why the hell did you tell me?"

" _What_?"

"If you were going to _handle_ it, you would've handled it. Instead, you told me something that you _knew_ I wasn't gonna just let go. You _knew_ I'd want to kill him for that."

The look on her tear-stained face is one of utter confusion. "I… I didn't," she tries, obviously completely lost.

"You didn't _what_?"

She takes a long breath and looks up at him. "Everybody in that lab hates me," she says quietly. "I just wanted you to tell me they were wrong." She pushes her glasses up into her hair and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. Hot tears continue to spill out, though she's trying so damn hard to staunch the flow. "I make them crazy. And they made up some dumb nickname for me to make themselves feel better. And I _hate_ it. I _hate_ that they _hate_ me. But…"

"Stop," he says gently. "Stop it," as he tenderly grasps her forearms and pulls her now balled-up fists from her eyes.

"I don't understand why you love me!" she sobs, as he holds her hands down at her sides.

He's so taken aback, he doesn't quite know what to say. "What?" is all that comes out as he releases her arms and moves his hands to her hips.

"I'm so horrible," she continues to cry. "I was horrible to my family. And they gave me everything. And I told them I hated them. And I _left_ them. I left them to die!" She leans into him and his arms instinctively wrap around her. But he's still too damn confused about what's happening to actually say anything. So she just goes on, muffled words tumbling out into him. "I didn't have any friends in school because I was too competitive. And everyone who ever worked with me hated me because I tried too hard, or I made them look bad, or I was too hard on them – and it's all true, too!" She pulls away a bit and looks up into his eyes. "I like being the best. And like being the one in charge. And I like to fight."

He almost laughs at the last one, a small smile tugging on his lips. "That's called being driven," he says as he brings his hand up to smooth down her hair. "And that's _just one_ of the things I love about you."

She shakes her head, casting her gaze down before closing her eyes. "That's not what I mean. I just… My whole life… when I was little nobody wanted me. And when I got older… I never told anyone in college that I was a mutant. They all hated us. For no reason. And I never understood. And I… I… "

"Okay," he says, gently grabbing her by the shoulders and pivoting her towards the other room. He guides her back to the couch and sits her down as he says, "This feels like we're talking about something totally different from the thing with Max."

As soon as she sits, she collapses back into the cushions and blankets. "I'm just so tired of being hated." Her eyes remain closed as she wipes at her nose with the back of her hand and lays her head back. "But I also kind of feel like it's all I know. And now you're here. And you say you love me…"

"I _do_ love you," he tells her as he sits down on the coffee table in front of her. "I love you more than anything."

She shakes her head absently, her voice sounding much steadier when she asks, "But _why_?"

He runs his hands up her thighs before gripping her from behind, then he slowly pulls her closer to him. As she nears the edge of the couch, her head loses purchase on the cushions and she's forced to slump forward instead. "Baby," he starts, lifting her chin so she'll look him in the eye. "Nobody knows better than me what it's like to feel like you don't deserve to be loved. I still think it. And to be honest, every day I wonder how it is that you can love me."

"So we're meant for each other," she mumbles with a sniffle.

He grabs a tissue, presses it into her hand and waits for her to blow her nose. When it's clear she needs more, he drops the box in her lap. "Can I ask where all this is coming from?"

"The snot?" Her brow wrinkles in confusion as she holds the wad of tissues to her nose.

He smiles and ducks his head. "No. This… reaction."

"You shouldn't have told Tony," she says, looking for a place to set her used Kleenex.

He holds out his hand and she reluctantly gives him the filthy wad. "I'm sorry."

"I might hire him back. I told Tony that."

His jaw twitches and he grinds his teeth before forcing out, "If that's what you decide to do…"

"I just… I'm not used to be taken care of. And I know you were trying to help." She quirks an eyebrow at him and sternly says, "You overstepped."

"Understood."

She leans back again, collapsing onto the couch like a ragdoll. Letting out a long, wheezy sigh, she says, "I don't really know if I think I don't deserve it, or if I'm just not used to it. I've been on my own a long time. And anyone who ever really did love me, or who I thought did…" Some more tears start to collect in her eyes as she says, "I don't know."

"Here's the thing, doll," he says as he crawls over to sit beside her, "I'm never going to stop wanting to take care of you. I love you. And you're supposed to want to take care of the people you love."

"I know," she replies, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I got involved with the whole Max thing. But I gotta tell ya, if I hear about anyone treating you badly, I'm gonna get involved. And it's not because I don't think you can handle it. It's because I can't handle knowing that someone is hurting you." She nods against him. "Also," he mutters, turning his head and laying a kiss on her crown, "You're funny and witty and brilliant. Smartest person I know. So dedicated. And so unbelievably beautiful. And you're a good person, who cares – maybe too much sometimes – about everyone. And that's just the tip of the _why I love you_ iceberg."

They sit in silence for several long minutes, just melting into one another. Her body leans heavily into him as her head lulls to the side on his shoulder. When he glances down, he sees that she's fallen asleep, so he pulls the comforter up around them both, wraps his flesh-and-bone arm around her lower back, and leans back into the cushions to rest his eyes. The last thing that filters through his mind as he too drifts off is one simple thought – _I am so fucked_.


	21. Dirty 30

**Author's note:** Just a teeny bit of slightly smutty sweetness...

* * *

She wakes to soft kisses peppering the side of her neck and a deep burn growing at her center. Her eyes remain glued shut, reality blurring at the edges as she's _slowly_ pulled to consciousness. Without realizing, she lets out low moan and the lips at her throat spread into a sly smile. She pulls her legs together suddenly, thighs tightening as the muscles in her core clench.

"You dreaming about me, baby?" he whispers, hot breath just below her ear.

She bites her lip and arches her back as his fingers continue to slide along her and thrust deep inside. She doesn't say a word. She _can't_ say a word. He moves closer to her, his metal hand gliding to the small of her back, the chill of his fingertips causing her breath to catch. She moves her hands down to find his between her legs.

"You want more?" he asks, voice slow and deep.

She nods eagerly and he sidles down the bed. "No," she mutters, reaching her hand out to stop him, threading her fingers through his hair. She gives him a little tug and finally opens her eyes. "No," she breathes out, looking down and locking sleepy eyes with him. "I want _you_."

He smiles wide. "Dirty 30," he intones, slowly moving back up the length of her. His metal fingers trace their way up her back beneath her T-shirt before running along her ribs. His flesh fingers continue to stroke inside, pulling more and more wetness from her. When his face reaches hers, he places a soft kiss on her jaw and whispers in her ear, "Happy birthday, baby."

She lets out a sound that's a bit between a moan and a squeal, and feels for him under the sheets. "Now," she squeaks out. "Please. Now." Every inch of her begs for him. She tightens around his fingers, clenching one more time before he pulls out and gently pries her thighs apart. She's nodding quickly and catching inside as he moves over the top of her. "Please," she begs just before he enters her.

It doesn't take long at all, she's so close already, eased from her dreams by his firm but delicate touch. It doesn't take long for the orgasm to roll over her in waves, wrap around her and squeeze and pull and let her loose, leaving her a boneless pile of breath and sweat. She lays there for what seems like forever, blissful and relaxed and just now fully waking to the world.

Five, maybe ten minutes pass as they lay curled in silence, hearing only each other's gradually steadying breaths and the far-off chirps of birds outside the open window. "Good morning," he says to her finally, a smile in his voice. She feels the bed shift beneath her as he moves to rise. "You want pancakes or omelets?"

She rolls onto her side to look over at him. He's already at the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. She reaches out and brushes her fingertips over the bare skin at the small of his back and he turns to face her. "Pancakes," she mutters.

He crawls back onto the bed, one knee at a time, and ducks down to nuzzle his forehead against hers. "Blueberries?"

She nods. "And white chocolate chips."

He laughs at her eager, childlike tone. "Blueberries and chocolate," he says before lowering his lips onto hers. They share a long, deep kiss that leaves them both grinning like idiots as he pulls away. "Go brush your teeth," he tells her as he pulls himself up and hops off the bed.

She showers too, and takes her sweet ass time. It's her birthday, so a long hot shower seems like the least she can allow herself. By the time she saunters into the kitchen, there's already a small stack of pancakes sitting on the counter. And there's a _Steve_ hovering over them, eyeing them hungrily. "Hey, sleepy head," he says. "Happy birthday."

She gives him a quick, "Thanks," before making her way over to Bucky. He pours some batter into the pan as she leans up against his back and wraps her arms around his middle. "Steve's eating my pancakes," she whines.

He wraps his metal fingers around her hands and smiles. "Nah. Those," he points to the food that Steve is currently dousing in syrup, "don't have any chocolate."

"Oh, good." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and drops her grip, moves off to the side to fill a mug with coffee. "What did you bring me?" she asks Steve.

"Actually," he draws out while studying his food a little too intently, "I'm not here for you." He looks up and sees Tessa staring at him with a quirked brow. He shrugs a bit sheepishly. "Sorry."

She gets it. He doesn't have to say why he's here. "A mission," she murmurs, gaze dropping to the coffee in her hands.

"I told him no," Bucky says, still focused on breakfast.

"Yeah, right."

Steve stands at the counter as he begins eating, swallows hard and points his fork at his friend. "He did, actually."

"But he's still going to go," she says casually, brushing past both of them and taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

"It's just recon," Steve tells her, his voice suddenly matter of fact. "I need a sniper in place. Just in case."

Bucky flips the pancakes. "I told him we have a reservation at 8."

"I can't promise we'll be back by then."

"Guess I'll just have to have my birthday dinner by myself… all alone in that big restaurant…"

Bucky turns around to look at her. She's got an amused smirk on her face, but he can see the disappointment in her eyes. "You're not going to your birthday dinner alone."

"We're only taking Barton and Romanov," Steve says, the fact that he's using last names only showing her that he's already in mission mode. "You could take Wanda."

"Ooo," she sits up straight. "I could take _Bruce_. He loves Cantelina's."

Bucky plates the pancakes and flips off the stove. "See what you're doing?" he says to Steve as he crosses over to be next to Tessa. He slides the pancakes in front of her and wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Because of you, my girl will be having a romantic birthday dinner with another man."

Tessa ducks her head a bit and glances over at Steve, raising her eyebrows at him. He lets out a small laugh. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I wouldn't ask if I didn't _really_ need to."

She leans her head against Bucky's shoulder as she drowns her pancakes in almost as much syrup as Steve had put on his. "It's fine," she says with a yawn. "It's just my thirtieth birthday. No big deal."

Steve rolls his eyes. "The guilt…"

She sniggers a little, cutting into her breakfast as Bucky returns to the stove to begin cleaning up. "Honestly," she tells him. "It's fine."

Steve pushes off the counter and moves to sit down next to her at the breakfast bar. "Natasha thought you might be upset… mostly about, you know… being old." He can barely get the words out without laughing, and she simply shakes her head at his poor attempt at a joke and rolls her eyes.

"Truth be told, my twenties weren't that great." She takes a giant bite and closes her eyes, relishing the warm, sweet treat. With her mouth still full, she turns to him and says, "Maybe this decade'll be better."

"So far my 100s have been pretty good," Bucky says over the running water as he dumps the dishes into the sink.

"Really?" Steve chuckles. "All six weeks of them?"

He shrugs. "So far."

"Great," Tessa says with a swallow. "I'll just see about getting a cryo chamber installed in the living room."

Bucky shuts off the water, wipes down his hands and moves over to her. "I wouldn't recommend it."

Steve gets up and pats Tessa on the shoulder. "Well, I'm sorry to do this on your birthday. Really, I am."

"It's okay," she says again. "I already got some birthday sex, some birthday pancakes… that oughta hold me over for a while."

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. "You know, you really don't have to tell me everything."

"James got me a new alarm clock." She states before leaning over to him and whispering, "It's his _penis_."

Bucky folds his arms over his chest and stifles a laugh as Steve scrunches up his face and says simply, "Okay." He looks over at Bucky. "Be in the conference room in two hours," he tells him as he heads for the door.

Bucky shakes his head with a smile on his lips. "You're evil," he says with a quirked brow. Tessa just smiles at him, her mouth full of pancakes and her eyes full of mischief. He picks up his coffee and moves to sit next to her at the bar. "You sure you're okay with this?"

Her expression drops. "Would it matter if I wasn't?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

It doesn't surprise her at all of course to hear the lie. "Yes."

She shrugs and lets out a deep sigh. "I'd rather not have to spend my birthday worrying about you. But I'm not going to tell you not to go."

"You don't have to worry about me." She shoots him a biting _bullshit_ glare and he lets out a small chuckle. "Fair enough."

"It's fine," she repeats for him. "Really."

"I'll make it up to you," he whispers, leaning over and snuggling into the crook of her neck.

"Oh, I know you will." She giggles lightly, unintentionally, when he begins laying kisses along her collar bone. "Stop it," she tells him. "I'm eating." In response, he bites down on the flesh of her shoulder, pulling a soft _yelp_. She slaps him away.

"What?" he asks innocently. "I'm hungry too."

She snorts out a laugh. "Now who's evil?" she asks before popping the last of her breakfast in her mouth. She grabs the plate and silverware and dumps them in sink, then refills her coffee and heads back to the bedroom. Stopping at the doorway, she turns to him. "I have an hour before I have to check in at the lab," she says coyly, ending with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. "If you're really _hungry_."


	22. New Genetic Medical Research Division

The restaurant was _nice_. Tessa had been there only once before, and that was for a business meeting with Tony, Helen Cho, and a couple of potential investors. They never ventured out of the bar, though – Tony's philosophy, _Everyone deserves to be taken to a five-star restaurant. But it takes a lot to make it past the bar with me._

Well she had managed to make it past the bar. And it was _amazing_. "I really was fine with Cantelina's," she says as the Maître D pulls out her chair.

Tony scoffs. "Please. It's your birthday."

Bruce leans over to whisper to her. "Sorry. If I'd known he'd hijack everything, I wouldn't have told him."

"I can hear you," Tony responds in a whisper of his own as he leans forward.

Pepper turns in her seat and looks to Tessa, ignoring the two men at the table. "You prefer white, right? Chardonnay?"

"Oh, um, yes," Tessa replies, watching as the woman proceeds to order a $500 bottle of wine without a second thought. "Pepper," she gasps, but is met with a silencing hand.

"Please," the blonde laughs out. "This is the least that we owe you." A serious look suddenly takes over her face. "Unless you really don't want this. We can go to Cantelina's… or wherever you'd like."

"No we can't," Tony interrupts. "She's wanted to have dinner here forever."

"Yeah, but I can't ask you – "

"Ask? No, you're not _asking_ us to take you out."

"Yeah," Bruce intones, facing Tony. "You actually weren't invited at all."

Tony slowly turns to his friend. "You agreed that this was a good idea," he explains as though he's speaking to a small child. "We discussed this, remember?"

"We discussed taking her to dinner sometime in the future to – _ow_!" he lets out as Tony's shoe connects with his shin…hard. "I'm just saying, you didn't have to take over her birthday."

"I'm not taking over. I'm picking up the pieces the Tin Man left behind."

"Tony," Pepper warns.

"Look," Tessa interrupts. "This is all really nice…" She pauses briefly and looks longingly around the dining room. "And you're right, I do _really_ want to eat here. And drink that crazy expensive chardonnay…"

"Good," Tony utters from across the table.

"But, you really don't need to pay for all this."

He waves a hand in the air absently. "It's a business expense. I do this for all of the people I'm trying to _woo_."

"Only the important ones," Pepper says with a smile.

"You do know that I already work for you, right?"

"Yeah, about that," he says, stilling suddenly as the wine is brought out and served.

Tessa literally sits on the edge of her seat until the waiter leaves. "About what?" she asks. "You're not firing me, are you?"

"Not entirely, no."

"Not entirely?"

Tony leans back in his chair and motions to her glass of wine, urges her with his eyes to try some. She picks up the glass and sips the dry, buttery liquid, lets the warmth flow down her throat, all while maintaining anxious eye contact with her employer.

Pepper watches the odd dynamic, notes Tessa's agitation – and Tony's amusement – and shakes her head. "Would you just tell her, please?"

"I was building up to it, creating a mood," he says as he straightens upright. "But fine, sure, I'll just _tell_ her." He turns to face Tessa and says without any ceremony at all, "I want you to run the medical research division of Stark Industries."

Tessa wrinkles her nose in confusion. "There is no medical research division of Stark Industries."

"There is now," Bruce supplies from her left. She glances over to find him trying to hide a coy smile behind his glass.

"I don't understand."

"Next week, we are officially in business with U-Gin, which means we're going to devote more time, money, and resources to that side of the business."

Pepper interrupts to supply the business perspective that Mr. Idea Man often lacks. "We're going to be restructuring the entire Research and Development sector. Robotics, Biomechanical Engineering, Innovative Design Technologies, _and_ Genetic Medical Research. We would like you to lead the _new_ Genetic Medical Research division."

Tessa cocks her head, a completely dumfounded look on her face.

Bruce lightly lays his fingers on her forearm to get her attention. "Of course, this means your role with the Avengers may change a bit," he says. "You'll no longer be able to practice."

"She hates practicing," Tony blurts out. " _I'm not a practitioner_ ," he taunts, repeating her all too often uttered phrase.

"You did an amazing job setting up the medical response teams," Pepper tells her. "Now you'll just need to select who you want to lead the tier one team in your stead."

" _But_ , you'll still, officially, be the Avengers' lead physician," Tony assures her. "There's a level of trust there – medical records and secret old injuries and such. You just need to… delegate more. Like I'm doing now."

"This will also mean a lot more time in the city," Pepper continues, eager to explain just how this position might affect Tessa's life. "We're going to redesign and reopen the lab in the tower. You'll still have your personal lab at the compound though – "

"For pet projects," Tony supplies.

"For whatever projects you personally choose to work on," she corrects. "We want you to continue your research. We just want to give you the platform to do it on a much larger scale."

"But… why?"

" _Why_?" Tony mocks. Then, turning to Pepper, "Did she just say _why_?" Pepper only smiles in response, tilting her head in that _I'm_ trying _to be patient with you_ way of hers. He lets out an exaggerated sigh before turning back to Tessa. "Because you're going to cure diseases. You're going to find a way to clone tissues for transplantation. You're going to help the human race… evolve. And I want my company to get all of the credit."

She stares at him for a long moment, working to gauge his level of sincerity. "I don't think I know what to say," she finally utters.

"You should know, there'll also be a ton of boring meetings, press conferences… board meetings," Tony adds with a dramatic eye roll. "The bureaucracy is just awful."

"Board meetings?"

Pepper gives her a soft, patient smile. "The head of each new division will have a place on the board."

"The board? Of Stark Industries?"

"Tell me you're getting this, kid. I picked you because I thought you were some kind of genius. Not _me_ kind of genius. But some kind."

She nods emphatically. "I get it. I get it. I just… I don't really have the experience… or _any_ experience."

Tony scoffs. "You have plenty. And besides, I like to mold my people." He pauses to take a drink of the wine in front of him, and he makes a face the moment it hits his palate. "Ugh. No. Need scotch." He motions for a waiter. "Also, you know Dr. Cho and you've been in on the U-Gin dealings from the beginning. It just makes sense that you'd be the one to set up the new lab."

"The new lab in the city?"

He turns back to her after ordering a drink and momentarily gives her a confused look. "No. That won't be big enough. We just bought a 500,000 square foot building in Seattle. That's where the new lab will be. Did I mention this job will require travel?"

"Only in the beginning," Pepper says. "We'll need you in Seoul for a few weeks to work with Dr. Cho and her team on the plans. And then it'll just be some back and forth between New York and Seattle while it's all being built and staffed. Though, of course, you can go there and check in as needed. And you'll have access to the company jet."

"One of the company jets. Probably not the nicest one," Tony says.

"Your office will be in the city. But you'll be able to remote in from anywhere, including your office at the Avengers compound."

"Okay," Tessa says simply. "I can do that."

"Of course you can," Tony says, clapping his hands together. "You're a big girl now. You can do anything!"

"Tony," Pepper breathes out as she shuts her eyes and shakes her head in embarrassment.

"What? It's true. She's _finally_ an adult. You didn't think I'd give a job like this to a twenty-something, did you? Hell, the last time a kid headed a division, he almost ran the company into the ground."

"Just so we're clear here," Bruce begins, leaning forward, "that kid was you, right?"

At some point during the three or so hours they spend at the restaurant, Pepper orders some other crazy expensive wine, and despite filling up on the most delicious filet mignon ever made, Tessa is fairly tanked by the time she gets back from the city. Oh, wait, that might've also been the bottle of scotch that she split with Tony and Bruce after Pep left. Well, whatever the reason, the room is spinning like a damn dreidel the moment she steps inside.

"I got it," she tells Bruce as he helps lower her to the couch in her apartment. She closes her eyes and leans back into the cushions. "I got it."

"Yep." He grabs two bottles of water from her fridge and returns to collapse onto the sofa beside her. Tossing one of the bottles into her lap, he lets out a long growl of a sigh.

"Ha!" Tessa barks out without lifting her head. "You're drunk."

He takes a long gulp of his water and simply repeats, "Yep."

They sit in silence for several long moments, waiting for the world to settle around them. When she finally opens her eyes again, things are at least a bit less spinny. She turns to face Bruce. "Why aren't you doing it?" she asks him, words only slightly muddled.

He blinks hard to focus – _what had he done with his glasses?_ – and gives her a confounded look. "Doing what?"

"Running this new… thing. I know you're Tony's first choice."

He leans back and gazes up at the ceiling. "I don't think…" He sighs long and loud. "After my _failed_ experiant… experent… ex-peer-ment… It isn't in me. Not like you."

"I'm _in_ you?" she asks with a snorty giggle.

"You were made for this," he breathes out. Sitting upright, he looks her in the eye, though he has to cock his head a bit to the side to dispel the slight double vision. "Don't be nervous."

"Don't be nervous?" she asks incredulously. "Billions of dollars," she exclaims, throwing her hands into the air. "One of the biggest companies… a _board member_?"

"Tony wouldn't ask if he wasn't sure."

"He's testing me." She rises from the couch with a rather significant sway and looks down at Bruce. "It's all a test."

"Waxing poetical," he murmurs with a sweep of his hand. " _Life's_ a test. You pass, you die anyway."

She stares down at him for a long moment, unsure what to say. Then, "I'm gonna rock the shit outta this job," comes out through gritted teeth.

"Yes!" Bruce jumps up excitedly… maybe more animated than she's ever seen him. She stumbles back a few steps and lets out a raucous laugh. "Yes," he repeats, less emphatically as he wobbles where he stands. "And I'm going to…" He slowly lowers himself back onto the couch. "I'm going to rock this sofa."


	23. Do You Trust Me?

It's nearly noon by the time she manages to get herself out of bed. Bruce is gone, leaving only a neatly folded blanket in his stead on the couch, the wastebasket she set beside him and the water bottles she'd left on the coffee table nowhere to be seen. _Ever the gentleman._

She spends about twenty minutes dry heaving in the shower between sudsing up, downs a bottle of water, and eats a banana before heading for the door, eager to get to her office and look over the paperwork Pepper had promised to send first thing this morning. But just before leaving the apartment, she notices something odd sitting by the closet… Bucky's boots, the ones he'd worn when he left the day before, are in the corner caked with fresh mud.

He's never come home from a mission and… not come home before. Even if he had to hightail it to a debrief – or that time a few months back when he _badly_ needed to get stitched up – he _always_ found her first to tell her he's back. To _show_ her he's back, and in one piece. Even before they lived together, he'd seek her out the moment they returned. So what the hell was this about?

"Hey," she says lightly, coming up behind him in the gym. It's the private gym on the lower level that only the _real_ Avengers have access to. It's also one of the last places she's checked. "I was looking for you everywhere," she tells him when he turns to face her. "The lounge, Steve's, the track… I even went to medical, just in case."

"I wouldn't go there," he says with a strained smile. He's sitting on a bench, drenched in sweat, shoulders slumped forward. The look on his face is one of absolute exhaustion, and… defeat. The smile on his lips is obviously just some sort of appeasement for her sake.

She sits down next to him and frowns, reaches out to tuck some sweaty strands of hair behind his ear. "I saw your boots," she says softly. "Why didn't you wake me?"

He lets out a small laugh and turns his gaze from her to the floor. "You were _out_ ," he tells her, lifting his brows for emphasis. "Bruce was snoring on our couch. I figured you had the kind of night that you'd need to sleep off."

"Yeah… but I wouldn't have minded you letting me know you were back."

"Yeah, well… I didn't." He pushes up off the bench, putting a little too much effort into the movement.

"Are you hurt?" she asks simply, no inflection to her voice.

He stands with his back to her and gingerly rotates his right arm in an arc. "I'm fine," he tells her as the ligaments pop around his shoulder.

"You'll heal faster if you get some sleep."

"Yeah," he mutters before meandering to the other side of the gym and disappearing into the locker room.

"Cool. _Yeah_ ," she drones to herself, leaning back onto the wall behind her. She lets out a dramatic moan and momentarily shuts her eyes. She's just about to drag herself upstairs to hunt down Steve or Natasha – neither of whom she was able to find earlier – and ask them what the hell happened on this mission, when Bucky reappears from the locker room, pulling a clean shirt on over his head.

She wrinkles her brow in confusion – _did I just fall asleep?_ – and asks as he approaches, "Can you shower as fast as you can run?"

He smiles at her, a calmer, more genuine expression than before. "I just rinsed off," he tells her, explaining his speedy cleanup.

He extends his left hand to her and she takes it hesitantly. Of course he touches her with the metal hand – embraces her, strokes her temple – but he never offers her that one first. Once he hoists her up off the bench, he tries to pull his hand away, but she firmly entwines her fingers with his. "How bad is that shoulder? Really."

"It's not bad," he tells her with a sigh. "Just dislocated it a little."

He guides her out of the gym and into the elevator, and she gives his metal hand a small squeeze. "Just a little? I was always under the impression it could either be dislocated or… not. Didn't know there was another option."

"How was dinner?" he asks, swallowing hard, obviously wanting to change the subject.

"Did you go through medical on your way back in? Have someone take a look at it?"

They reach their floor and he drops her hand as they step off the elevator. "I take it you two really tied one on?" He swiftly unlocks the door and swings it open, tossing the words over his shoulder without bothering to look back at her.

"You do know that it could heal wrong if it isn't put back into place properly, right?" she intones as she follows him into the apartment.

He's already in the kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator, leaning in to search for something to drink. He comes back out with a small bottle of pineapple juice that she didn't even know they had. He takes a large swig and finally turns to face her. "Are you going to answer all of my questions with questions of your own?"

"Are you?"

He glances down and sees that she's grasping her hands together, wringing them tightly. "Stop that," he tells her, indicating her hands with a tilt of his chin. She looks down, seemingly surprised to find her fingers twisted in her own grasp, and she drops her hands, roughly sweeping them over the sides of her jeans as if wiping them off. He lets out a long sigh. "Romanov popped it back in place. She knows what she's doing. But if you want to take a look, be my guest."

He moves past her and drops down onto the couch, waits for her to come over to his side. "Raise it up for me," she tells him, laying her palm on his shoulder blade while grasping his tricep with her other hand. Her touch is gentle, but firm as she presses along his back and shoulder, slowly manipulating his arm around in the socket. He feels it catch a bit an lets out a small wince. She digs her thumb in high along his shoulder and says, "Take a deep breath in." He does as requested, and growls out on the exhale as she pops something in place. "Better?" she asks, dropping her hands and letting him articulate his sore arm in small circles to test the movement.

He furrows his brow. "Yeah, actually," he admits reluctantly.

She moves to his left and settles onto the couch next to him, folding her legs up underneath herself. "Just recon, huh?" she says lightly. But there's an obvious anxiousness to her voice despite the forced casualness.

"We saw a little bit of action," he ekes out through gritted teeth.

"Aren't snipers usually pretty far out of the action?"

He stares straight ahead, purposely avoiding her gaze, and says simply, "I don't want to talk about it."

The hand she had been delicately dragging up and down his back stills and she leans back onto her heels. "Okay," she utters, doing her best to hide the hurt.

He drops his face to his hands and furiously scrubs for a brief moment before taking in a long, deep breath. He turns to face her. "How was your birthday dinner?"

She follows his lead, works to push thoughts of the mission back to a far off corner of her mind, opening herself up to focus on something – _anything_ – else. "It was… weird," she breathes out.

He draws his brows together and cocks his head as he looks at her with tired gray eyes. "What does that mean?"

"Well… for starters, Tony and Pepper came along." She turns around so that she can lean back into Bucky. He too shifts, instinctively, letting her settle into his chest. "Actually, they didn't really _come along_ so much as hijack the whole thing."

"Seriously?" he asks, irritation lacing the word.

She reaches up to the back of the couch where his left arm sits, draped over the cushions, and she takes hold of his metal fingers. "In a good way," she mumbles, pulling his hand into her lap to absently trace along the edges of the plates. "They took me to _Overture_." She throws a sly smile over her shoulder at him.

"That the place owned by that guy?" he tries with a frown. The name sounds familiar, and he's sure it's swanky. He just can't quite keep track of all of the fancy places the city has to offer.

She lets out a small giggle and his arm tightens a bit around her, pulling her closer so that he can feel the laugh move through her and into his chest. "Yes, it's the place owned by that guy." She releases a dreamy sort of sigh. "It might've been the best thing I've ever eaten."

"What did you have?"

"Filet mignon. That cow was sent from the heavens. And asparagus… I didn't I know I liked asparagus." She continues to work along his fingers as she talks. "Actually, I probably don't. Or wouldn't. Not normally. But whatever they did to it… oh man, it was so good." She drops her head so that it settles back into the crook of his arm. "And Pepper got us this really expensive chardonnay. I mean _really_ expensive. And it was _amazing_."

"And I take it you and Bruce had a lot of this _amazing_ wine together?"

"We had a lot of expensive bourbon together, actually. When Tony treats, you don't refuse."

"Do me a favor?" he asks, bringing his right hand up to sweep her hair off of her neck. "Not that I don't trust you, or Bruce… but maybe don't let men stay the night when I'm not around?"

He feels her back vibrate once more with laughter. "You should've seen him. He ran face first into the entrance of our building and broke his glasses… busted them right in two. But he still insisted on walking me home. Full disclosure… I was pretty surprised he even made it to our couch. I thought I was going to have to have Friday call someone to peel him off the hallway floor."

"Well, that sounds like a great story. But I'm not exactly comforted by the fact that the man who slept on my couch last night – the one who _pretty easily_ turns into a giant green rage monster – was out of his mind drunk."

She scoffs loudly. "Drunk Bruce is like a sleepy toddler. He just drags his feet, walks into things, and has trouble with words. He's no threat to me. Or to anyone else."

Bucky shakes his head. "Can we have just this one rule? For my peace of mind?"

She lets out a long, deep breath. "Fine. No drunk men staying the night when you're not around."

"Maybe no sober ones either?"

"You're making a lot of demands here, babe."

"Sorry to cramp your style," he says, wrapping his right arm around her middle and giving a firm squeeze.

They sit curled in silence for several moments, Tessa resting her head on Bucky's shoulder and gently playing with his metal fingers as he begins to drift off behind her. She can hear his breathing deepen and debates whether to send him to bed or just let him fall into the sleep that she's sure he needs right here on the couch. She makes a slow, deliberate move to carefully sit upright and disentangle herself from his arms, but he's awake enough to protest by pulling her back down into him.

"I'm glad I didn't completely ruin your birthday," he says to her, voice deep with fatigue.

"You didn't ruin it at all," she tells him. "Actually," she starts, butterflies beating away inside her stomach, as she prepares to share her news. "Tony kind of gave me a really, really great gift." She twists around in his grip, almost bouncing with excitement. "Well, not a birthday gift. Just… he told me on my birthday, and that kind of made the day that much better."

Bucky gives her a curious look. "Told you what?"

She smiles wide, but tries to hide it, tries to remain passive and professional and, well, _calm_. But her words betray her, coming out in a single, fast-paced utterance. "Stark Industries is breaking their R&D sector into multiple departments and he wants me to run their new medical research division. _Me_. Head of the new Genetic Medical Research Division of Stark Industries." She finishes with an excited sort of squeal and looks to Bucky, waiting for a reaction. He says nothing and her face falls a bit as she studies his expression, trying to discern any emotions peeking through the guarded countenance.

Finally, his eyebrows rise, an all-too forced smile spreading across his features. "That's… wow," he says nodding intently.

"It's a pretty big deal," she says, almost timidly.

"Yeah," he intones. "Sounds like."

"We'll be teaming up with U-Gin on some new, really exciting projects," she tells him, trying to force some enthusiasm into the conversation. "We'll be setting up a huge – and I mean _huge_ – lab in Seattle. It'll be outfitted for R&D as well as clinical studies, and hopefully – one day – production."

"Seattle?" He whips around to level her with an intense stare. "You're… going to Seattle?"

"Not permanently," she says with a small laugh. "I'm not relocating or anything. Pepper said my office will be in the city. And they're reopening the lab there too so that I can head up smaller, proprietary projects."

"So they want you to move back to the city?" he asks, his brow furrowed with confusion and… is that _fear_?

She shakes her head emphatically. "No, no. Pepper said that I can keep the lab here too. And I should be able to remote in from anywhere. Oh, and when I _do_ travel, I get to use the Stark jet," she adds eagerly.

"How much travel are we talking about?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, really. Probably a lot at first." Her hands slowly move into her lap, fingers twisting around one another as the nervous energy in the room wraps around her. "I'll have to go to Seoul for a while."

"When?" he spits out, face looking more grave by the second.

"I don't know. Soon."

He stands up quickly and begins to pace. "I don't like it," he mutters almost under his breath. "I don't want you going that far… alone."

She watches him for a brief moment, confusion taking over her features. "What do you mean?" she asks hesitantly. "You don't want me to go to Korea? Or you don't want me to travel at all… or even take the job?"

He turns to her swiftly, face hard as he says, "Both. Either." Her jaw drops, a dumfounded look taking over her face, and he instantly regrets his harsh reaction. "I just don't…" he says, stumbling over his words as he looks down at her. "You work so much already…"

"I thought…" she closes her eyes and shakes her head. More often than not, the thrumming of negative energy – or positive, for that matter – just feels like background noise to her. She can usually ignore it until it goes away. But what he's putting out right now has her feeling dizzy and lightheaded. "You said you like how… dedicated I am."

"I do." He bends down in front of her and peels her hands apart. "But…" He gazes down at her bright red fingertips, slowly strokes the mottled flesh to work the blood back in where she'd been strangling the flow. "You're never really here as is," he mutters, brow furrowed. "I hardly get to see you…"

"Well… someone else will be taking over the tier one med team. And my staff will expand. I'm not saying I won't be busy, but I'm not going to have a choice but to delegate more."

He nods absently, still stroking her fingers. She feels his energy shift just a bit, but it's still laced with anxiety.

"Are you worried?" she asks softly. He looks up and locks onto her eyes. "I'll do what I can… to make more time." She twists her fingers in his grip and takes hold of his hands, giving each a firm squeeze. "I never want you to feel… neglected."

His gaze falls again and he lets out a long-held breath through his nose. Shaking his head slowly, he says, "It's not that. I just…" He stands upright and begins to pace again. "Now's not a good time."

"What does that mean?" she asks, anger slipping into her words. She too rises, standing stark still in front of the couch, working her hands into and out of tightly clenched fists as they hang by her sides.

"It means that's now's not a good time," he counters, turning on a heel to face her.

"What are you talking about?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Again, he tries, mouth gaping open and closed, ending in a tightly clenched jaw. The unease rolls off of him in waves.

"James?" she questions, concern seeping into her core.

"Just… not now."

"Why are you freaking out about this?" she asks insistently.

"I'm not freaking out," he says, a small tremor to his voice.

"You are _absolutely_ freaking out."

"Tessa," he warns through gritted teeth.

"Take a look in a mirror, man. Because _this_ …" She waves her hands around, motioning toward him. "Is what _freaking out_ looks like."

He stills his pacing and drops his head into his hands. He scrubs at his face almost violently before moving his hands up to run his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends. His pale eyes meet hers and he takes in a long, deep breath. "I don't want you traveling right now. I can't have you going out… anywhere… where I can't protect you."

"Protect me?" Part of her wants to laugh. _Since when do you think I need protection?_ But she can see the absolute fear in his eyes, and she can feel the restless energy weighting the air in the room. "Why do you think you need to protect me?"

He's in front of her in one long stride, nearly nose to nose. He reaches up and places his hands on either side of her face and, gazing into her eyes, he asks her simply, "Do you trust me?"


	24. Let Him Have This

"Let me get this straight," she says in a huff. "Your mission was to look into reports of activity at an abandoned Hydra base, and you found evidence there of medical experimentation… on _mutants_?"

Steve nods hesitantly. "Basically. Yes."

"And were you going to tell me about this?" she asks deliberately.

"We're telling you now," Bucky intones from the corner.

She turns to him, a disbelieving look on her face. "Uh, _yeah_ , after I dragged your ass down here to get the truth from Steve," she says, wildly flailing her arm in the captain's direction. "Because _you_ wouldn't tell me jack shit!"

"Tessa," Steve tries. "It's not… it wasn't like that."

She cocks her head and gives him an angry glare. "Sorry? Wasn't like _what_?"

"We were going to talk to you about it. But really… it isn't a big deal. I mean… whatever happened there happened a long time ago." He seems nervous as he sits stark still on the arm of his couch, right where he's been perched since she barged in only moments ago in a whirlwind, demanding to know just what had happened on their mission to turn her boyfriend into such a nervous wreck.

Tessa shakes her head and takes a long, deep breath to settle herself. "Okay," she says simply, folding her arms in front of her. "So you heard there might be some activity at this… place. And you thought you'd find some faction of die-hard Hydra supporters setting up shop, and instead you found…"

"Mostly old medical reports – half finished, shoddily compiled – of different procedures." He pulls in a deep breath. "Some of the files mentioned the harvesting of… _parts_ from super-powered subjects. Mutants."

"Parts," she repeats softly as her eyebrows rise. She turns to Bucky. "But the place was abandoned?"

He nods, then shrugs, casting his eyes down and away from her. "Didn't find anyone there… but that doesn't mean the reports we got were wrong." He's leaning against the wall with his arms tightly folded over his chest, and she can still feel the anxious energy radiating off of him.

"Okay," she says, confusion lacing her wrinkled brow. "How did you hurt your shoulder then?"

Steve jumps up from the sofa. "That was my fault. Kind of."

"No it wasn't," Bucky tells him scornfully. He steps away from the wall and turns to face Tessa, letting his arms fall to hang loosely at his sides. "Once we got there… I remembered the place."

She steps closer to him and reaches out to take his hand. In the past hour, she's felt his energy move in dramatic shifts – anxious, angry, terrified. Regretful. She laces her fingers through his metal ones and states, matter of fact, "From when Hydra had you." He looks into her steadfast green eyes and nods. "And what do you remember?" she asks carefully.

"Testing," Bucky says softly, barely audibly. "They did some kind of testing… on human subjects. I don't know what." He pauses and momentarily chews on the inside of his lip as he contemplates what to say next. "I remember taking people there." He looks away, back down at the floor.

"He had a sort of… flashback," Steve supplies from behind. She twists around to look at him, never dropping Bucky's hand. "It was my fault," he continues with a sad sort of smile. "Once we realized the place was empty, I had him come down from his position. I thought he might know the place. But I didn't think… He's never had a flashback in the field before."

"It's not your fault," Bucky assures in a harsh tone. He tugs Tessa's hand to get her to turn back toward him. "It was the rooms. They all looked exactly the same as I remember. Just curtained-off beds where they restrained people. And the screaming. I remember them screaming." He pauses briefly and shakes his head. "I didn't know they were…" He clamps his eyes shut, unable to look at her as he says, "mutants."

"Baby," she breathes out, moving her left hand up to his cheek. She rests it there for just a moment before tilting his chin so that his face is directed at hers. "You did a lot of things as the Winter Soldier," she says in a resolute tone. "But you're not him anymore, right?"

He nods slowly, his eyes still pressed firmly closed. He leans into her hand as she moves it back up to his cheek.

"They can't control you anymore."

"I know," he whispers, nuzzling his face into her palm. He slowly opens his eyes and looks into hers, seeing her face through the haze of long-held, unshed tears. "It could have been you, though. It could've been you that I brought there. Or… your family…"

She nods, raising her eyebrows appraisingly. "Maybe," she says, giving his metal hand another firm squeeze. "But I'd forgive you."

"That's not the point."

"Maybe not. But I'd do it anyway." She slowly turns back to Steve, taking the smallest of steps back once she's facing him so that she can rest up against Bucky's chest. "How did his shoulder get dislocated?" she asks him.

He swallows hard. "He charged Clint. I grabbed him and pulled back, and…" He shakes his head at the memory. "The pain seemed to snap him out of it at least."

Nodding, she tells him, "I repositioned it a bit earlier. It should heal fine."

"Good," he mumbles, seeming less than assured.

She stays pressed into Bucky, sensing that he needs her to remain close, but begins to bring the conversation back around to the facility they found. "So these… records… how old were they?"

"Natasha's going through them now… or what's left of them. So far, everything's _at least_ ten years old."

"What's left of them?" she repeats for clarification.

"It looked like someone had ransacked the file room. Papers everywhere. Computers were destroyed… but Nat thinks she might be able to pull something off the hard drives. Maybe. We brought back what we could for analysis."

"You think the reported activity was someone going back for the records?" she asks, her interest piqued.

He shrugs. "Hard to say. Could've happened when they first abandoned the place… whenever that was."

"That'd be a pretty damn big coincidence," Bucky utters, the words rumbling through his chest and into her back.

"We didn't find any evidence – at least nothing conclusive – of anyone having been there in years," Steve counters.

Tessa furrows her brow. "But you got reports of some kind of activity, right?"

"Yeah," he replies. "Clint and Nat are still in contact with some former associates. Every now and then, somebody spots something… weird going on and lets them know."

"SHIELD associates?" she asks with more than a hint of disdain.

Steve shrugs. "Probably."

"Barton said he trusted the info," Bucky tells her.

Steve shakes his head, ready to argue. "Still doesn't mean that the guy actually _saw_ anything." He faces Tessa and says, "This… contact… he said he'd heard rumors that people were asking about this old facility. That's all."

"You keep saying _facility_ ," she declares. "Was it built for this? For… experimentation… or whatever they were doing there?"

"Yes," Bucky bites out.

She runs her tongue across her teeth, lost in thought for a brief moment. "I want to see those files," she says suddenly. "Whatever you have, I want to see it."

"Okay," Steve agrees. "Nat would probably appreciate the help. Most of what's in there is medical records anyway."

" _But_ ," Bucky interrupts, twisting her around in his grip so that he can look her in the eyes. "I still don't want you going anywhere on your own. Not to Korea, at least."

"Korea?" Steve asks.

She gives Bucky an irritated look and tells him, "You're being ridiculous."

"No I'm not," he assures her. "Someone was there. I know it. Someone was going through old files on mutants – "

She shakes her head. "Babe, that has nothing to do with me. There's no reason to think I'd be in any kind of danger."

"You're a mutant," he tells her, as though she were unaware.

Calmly, seemingly unfazed, she replies, "Yes, but no one knows that."

Steve sidles up a little closer to the couple. "Why are you going to Korea?" he asks again, genuinely interested.

"She's not," Bucky shoots out, his eyes never leaving Tessa's.

She moves both of her hands up to his face and pulls him in for a quick, matter-of-fact kiss. "You need to calm down," she tells him, pulling away and out of his hold. "And you need to get some sleep."

"Baby," he intones with a shake of the head.

But she quickly interrupts him. "As a doctor… as _your_ doctor, Sargent, I'm telling you to go back upstairs and get some sleep. That shoulder will take twice as long to heal if you don't." He shoots her an irritated glare. "And as a _mutant_ – which you were so kind to remind me that I am – I need you to get the hell away from me for a while." She grips his upper arms and squeezes them, gives him a little shake for emphasis. "I love you… I do. But right now, your shitty energy is making me physically ill."

His face contorts, the anger melting away into a sort of sad, confused grimace. "That happens?" he asks her in an oddly small voice.

Steve steps in and answers for her. "All the time. She just never says anything." He gives her an admonishing look. "Doesn't make you a hero, you know."

She rolls her eyes rather dramatically – "Shut up" – and looks back to Bucky. "Go home. Go to bed. I promise I won't leave the country while you sleep."

He shakes his head disapprovingly. But he still turns and heads for the door. "You better not," he throws over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway, letting the apartment door slam shut behind him.

"It really freaked him out, you know?" Steve says in a near whisper, staring at the closed door. "It wasn't just… remembering what he did. I think that some of the rooms there… the cells, the… equipment… it reminded him of what they did to _him_. And then when we started looking at the files, we saw the subjects were all mutants… That was when he… I don't know… snapped. Maybe he remembered more then. He said he could hear their screams." He stops and shakes his head, then lets out a long sigh. "But after… He could only think of you. Of you going through all of that. Of you going through something like what he went through."

"I didn't… I _won't_ ," she tells him, a finality to her voice.

Steve nods. "I've known Bucky my whole life. I knew him when he was just… Bucky, my best pal, the guy who always had my back. I knew him when he was Sargent Barnes, the trained soldier, focused sharpshooter. And I know him now. And I can tell you that the one thing that has _never_ changed about him is his desire to protect the ones he loves. I saw it when he walked his little sister to and from school every day. And when he stepped in the few times his father pushed around his mom. I saw it when he jumped in to defend me from bullies. And on that train when he gave his life for mine." He gives her a small, sad smile. "Let him protect you, even if you don't think you need it. Just let him have this."

"I get it… He's scared right now. But – "

"Hey," he interrupts to ask again, "Korea?"

"Oh, yeah," she starts excitedly. "Right. So, Tony offered me a new position."

He wrinkles his brow in confusion. "Why? I mean… you already do _everything_ for him."

"No I don't," she pouts. Then, shaking her head, "Anyway… they're restructuring the R&D side of Stark Industries, and I'm going to head up the new medical research division. I get to be on the Board," she finishes with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

He smiles wide, his blue eyes actually seeming to twinkle when he looks down at her. "That's great, Tess!"

"Yes," she agrees emphatically. "Thank you. See? That was the reaction I was hoping for."

"But… what about Korea?"

"Oh, right. We're going to partner with U-Gin. I have to spend some time in Seoul working with Helen and her associates on the plans for a new research facility that we'll be building in Seattle."

"Seattle… wow. That's… far."

"I won't be there day to day. Obviously," she counters. "But I will be traveling, some at least. So we need to get James sorted out." She looks up at him and takes note of the crooked smile on his face. Then she sighs, shakes her head and turns for the door. "I'm going to go find Nat and get a look at those records. But if you talk to him," she intones in a determined voice, "talk him _down_."

He lets out a small, uncertain laugh. "I'll see what I can do," he tells her. "But I can't make any promises."


	25. Coffee with an Old Colleague

**Author's note:** We're getting a little more into X-Men territory here, so now might be a good time to mention that I don't anything X-Men-related either. Sadly.

* * *

"Stop sulking," she tells him, not even looking up from her computer screen.

"I'm not sulking."

"James," she chides, glancing up and seeing him leaning in the doorway of her office, arms tightly folded over his chest.

"I'm not sulking," he repeats, unfolding his arms and striding in to take a seat on the old sofa in the corner.

"Fine." She pushes away from her desk, flips her glasses up on top of her head, and leans back in her seat. "Then you're _brooding_." He shoots her an irritated glare. "Just say it. You'll feel better if you do."

"I'd feel better if you'd stay out of this."

"What happened to thinking that me going on missions was hot?" she asks, rising and crossing the room to shut the door. She turns back to him and leans up against the closed door, wiggles her eyebrows playfully before saying, "With great power comes great _sensuality_."

He shakes his head. "That's not what this is. You can't even use your powers out there."

"I know," she says quietly, moving to stand in front of him.

He looks up at her with tired, conflicted eyes. "If you do… if this guy finds out you're a mutant…"

"I _know_ ," she repeats, dropping her hands to his shoulders and giving him a small, playful shake. The corners of his mouth quirk up just a bit and he brings his hands to her hips. "Have I ever told you, you worry too much?" she teases, before lowering herself down to straddle his lap.

"No. Never," he replies with a frown.

"I'm just having coffee with an old colleague," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her fingers play in his hair. "There's no need to worry."

"Undercover operations are the hardest to monitor and the easiest to lose control of," he tells her with authority as each of his thumbs begin to rub circles into her hips. Her knees squeeze his thighs a little tighter as she sidles further into him, and he finds himself fighting to maintain focus and not get lost in the warmth of her body or the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo. "This could be really dangerous. You can't lose sight of that."

"We're meeting in a public place, an outdoor café," she tries, her fingers moving to sweep some errant strands of hair back behind his ears.

"Which means anyone can see you. And I could lose sight of you in a second."

"But you're not the only who'll be there."

"I just don't like it," he says, the frown returning to his face as his gaze drops.

"Well, I don't like that people are – or _were_ – experimenting on mutants," she says, suddenly stiffening next to him. "And honestly, this is something that I _should_ be involved with. This is something that, like it or not, already involves me… and my family. You're the one who pointed that out."

"It's not your job," he says plainly.

She scoffs loudly. "I have a suit. That basically makes me a part-time Avenger. And besides… how would you feel if Steve kept you from anything Hydra related?"

His brow furrows deeply as he looks back up at her. "I don't know. But it isn't the same. Not really."

"Babe," she groans, leaning back a bit and staring down at him with a serious look. "I went to live at Xavier's when I was 6 years old. I started training with the X-Men at 16. My first real mentor was a brilliant physician who was covered in bright blue fur." She smiles when he raises a single, suspicious eyebrow. "I know it doesn't seem like I… identify as a mutant. And maybe I don't always. Because it's hard. And scary. And… it can be easy to lose sight of who you really are when you spend so long in hiding."

His face softens as he takes in her words. If there's one thing that they truly have in common, it's this. Both of them have been so many people over the years. Both of them have spent too much time hiding who they are from others… and from themselves. He reaches up and pets back her hair, running his thumb along her forehead. "You never talk about it," he says softly. "You never talk about your time there, with them."

She drops her gaze, her cheeks suddenly taking on a bright red blush. "Yeah. Well… it's sort of complicated. But…" She looks back up and into his eyes. "I am a mutant. And that means more than just having the X-gene in my sequence. _To me_ , that means more. I spent years immersed in the… culture. We have a different history from other humans. We've been abandoned, denied, demonized. You think this Hydra facility was the only place experimenting on us? I personally went on at least four missions to rescue mutants – _people_ – who were held for testing or… training. I grew up learning about the secret missions of Nazis to root us out, activate us, tear us apart to see what makes us tick. I spent more nights than I can count listening to Logan's stories about the Weapon X program, about the torture they put him through to turn him into the ultimate killing machine."

He cocks his head and narrows his eyes at her. "Weapon X," he repeats. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

She merely shrugs. "I heard rumors that SHIELD took it over in the 90s… maybe Hydra was involved with that too." She lets out a long sigh and drops her forehead to his. "But see? That's the thing. If we weren't hated, we were ignored, forgotten. There are millions of us on this planet, but most people would say they've never met a mutant, maybe never even heard of them." Pulling back a bit, she locks eyes with him. "No one ever cared enough to save us. No one ever cared enough to even see that we needed saving."

"I care," he tells her, cupping his hand over the back of her head.

She smiles a small, sad smile. "If I wasn't here, if you and Steve and the other Avengers didn't know me… I don't know that any of you would care enough to look into this."

"That's not true," he says, hurt breaking through his voice.

"History shows otherwise." She places her hands on his shoulders and pushes back off of him. "Anyway, all of this is to say… I know what I'm getting into here. Probably better than the rest of you."

He grabs her waist when she tries to shimmy off his lap, and he pulls her back down. "I just want you to be careful," he tells her as he wraps his arms around her. She melts into him, resting her head on his chest. "You're not trained for this… or if you were, well, you're way out of practice."

She lets out a small laugh before mumbling softly, "I'm not worried. I know who has my back."

000

"I never did like this guy," Clint utters through the comms as he watches Dr. Aaron Scofield dodge traffic on his way to the café down the block.

Tessa sits idly at a table on the patio, lined up perfectly to be in his view as well as Bucky's from the other side of the quiet main street. "You never met him," she says softly, masking the movement of her lips with a coffee cup.

"You really think I didn't know _everything_ about the scientists stationed in Minsk. I know why Genetech hired him." He continues to peer through the Stark-manufactured sight device, snickering slightly when he sees the doctor stumble as he steps off a curb. "Klutz," he snorts.

"Whatever." Through the sight on his rifle, Bucky can actually make out Tessa's dramatic eye roll. "I worked with him every day for almost a year," she goes on. "And I can honestly tell you that he doesn't have enough personality to be either liked or disliked."

"Can you two relive the past some other time," Natasha mutters. She sits just a few tables away, but Tessa can only hear her voice through the comms and even when looking directly at her, she can't tell at all that the woman is speaking. _Damn, she's good._ "He's on your left," she says simply.

"Dr. Sullivan?" the man asks as he approaches. He extends his hand and offers a meek smile, one almost hidden by his graying mustache. "It's been a spell."

She rises and accepts his handshake. "It has been, Dr. Scofield. Thank you for meeting me." She drops back into her chair and waves her hand at the seat across from her… the seat where Bucky expressly told her to get him to sit so that he wouldn't be blocked by any other patrons.

Instead, he chooses the seat right next to her, plopping down and folding in on himself, resting his elbows on his knees. "I was surprised to hear from you," he says, his voice holding more enthusiasm than she's ever heard from the man. "Though perhaps I shouldn't be. I have heard stories about working for Stark Industries. I came up with a few gentlemen who worked for Howard Stark back in the day." He leans back in his chair then, smug look taking over his face. "They left when the _boy prodigy_ took over and started running the place into the ground."

"Are we recording this?" Clint asks. "I want to play this back for Tony later."

Tessa raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Really? Well, I guess he's grown up some since then. Business is booming."

"Tess," Steve's voice filters to her through the earpiece. "You're not happy with your job, remember?"

"Pure luck, I imagine," Dr. Scofield replies to her. "But if things are going so well…"

"Right," she corrects with an awkward laugh. "No… well… I mean, _business_ is great. I can't complain about that. I just… I'm not getting to do the research that I want." She shifts to the edge of her seat and crosses her legs toward him, leans forward to close off some of the distance between them. "I was thinking…" She smiles lightly, slowly swinging her hanging foot back and forth in an almost hypnotizing way. "The work we did together on the M-gene… attempting to clone it and activate it within certain tissues to spark cellular regeneration and growth… _that's_ the sort of thing I want to work on. That's the type of work that could actually make a difference for people."

"I'll bet Tony Stark has you doing things like developing technology for cell resiliency that inhibits hangovers," he says with a smirk.

She chuckles lightly, laying her palm on his knee. "That would be something he could sell," she says with a crooked smile.

"You might wanna cool it on the flirting, doll," Bucky mutters. "He's starting to look a little spooked."

"Poor guy's probably only talked to three women his entire life," Clint mocks. "And one was his mom."

"I think she's got this, guys," Natasha says blankly.

"Well," Scofield says, blushing as he pushes his giant glasses back up his nose. "Perhaps I should suggest it to him then. I wouldn't mind making a small fortune."

Tessa leans back in her chair, still letting her hanging foot draw lazy patterns in the air just inches from his shin. "I was hoping you might know of something," she says, drawing out the final word.

"Work on the M-gene? No, nothing much has been done with it since Genetech went under. They held so many patents – "

"What about the X-gene?" she asks expectantly. "I feel like I've been out of that world for so long now, that I don't even know what people are up to these days."

He straightens up and gives her a suspicious look. "Research on the X-gene is highly regulated," he says stiffly.

"Yes, Dr. Scofield, I am aware of that. The M-gene, as well. It's why we had to be carted of to Minsk to study it."

"Yes, but… X-factor research is… less theoretical. It makes people nervous."

"Not me," she intones, holding eye contact with the man as she runs her tongue lightly over her bottom lip.

"Laying it on a little thick, there Doc?" Clint chuckles into the comms.

"Look," she says, leaning forward once again and changing her tone to a more conspiratorial one. "I'm going to level with you." The man nods once. "I shouldn't know this… but I came across some information. I've been doing some work with the Avengers recently – "

"What the hell," Bucky hisses from his perch on a rooftop blocks away. "What are you doing?!"

She cringes at the near-shout in her ear, but goes on. "They came across some information, from several years ago, that ties you to some… studies."

"Tessa," Steve warns.

"Let her go," Clint says, his voice suddenly serious. "She might have him."

"They can't…" Scofield sputters. "There's nothing…"

She waves her hands in a _calm_ _down_ gesture. "No, no… they're not _doing_ anything about it. The experiments are all decades old. I just thought… even if you weren't doing anything in this… field anymore, that you might know someone who is."

His eyes go wide for a long moment as he moves from panic to curiosity to an odd sort of calm. "If that is what I think it is, then those studies were long ago abandoned."

"Oh," she says disappointedly.

"But…" He smiles wide and leans forward. "If you actually are interested… _really_ interested, then I do have a fellow I could introduce you to."

A genuine smile spreads across her face as she nods excitedly. "I assure you, Dr. Scofield, I am _very_ interested."


	26. Not an Ideal Situation

"His name is _Lobe_? What the hell kind of name is _Lobe_?" Clint asks with a laugh.

Tessa shrugs in response. "No clue. But if Scofield says I should meet him, then I think I should meet him."

Steve throws up a silencing hand. "Now, just hold on." He moves over to stand behind Natasha as she sorts through mounds of data on the computer in front of her. "Nobody's meeting anybody until we know a little more about this guy." He nudges Nat's shoulder. "Got anything?"

"Nothing," she mumbles, obviously perturbed. "There are no references to anyone named Lobe in any of SHIELD's files. Or in any other data we've collected over the last few years."

"It's probably a codename," he tells her.

She twists her head around to look a him. "Ya think?" she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Maybe's he clean," Tessa suggests, immediately earning her incredulous stares from everyone in the room. "What? Devil's advocate. I'm just trying to think of reasons why he'd never pop up on anyone's radar."

"I hate to say this, guys," Clint sighs as he sidles up next to Tessa and drapes an arm over her shoulders. "But I think Doc's right. If we can't find anything on this guy, we should send her in to meet with him. Might be the only way we'll get to know who he is."

Tessa narrows her eyes. "For the record, you're not saying that you _hate to say_ that I'm right, right?"

"Right," he responds with a confused frown.

She nods. "You just _hate to say it_ because it's not an ideal situation to be put in. Got it."

"Not an ideal situation?" Bucky repeats with raised brows. "It's a little more than that."

"He's in New York already. Scofield said that he's actively looking for scientists, preferably ones with experience in genetic mapping and cellular splicing. This is perfect timing."

"To be fair," Natasha chimes in, leaning back in her chair, "while I really don't think someone going by the name _Lobe_ is a non-threat, it is possible."

"It's like Scofield said, X-gene research is highly regulated," Tessa supplies. "And highly frowned upon. That could be reason enough to come up with a fake identity."

"And the fake identity might only be for people he doesn't know. Once she gets in, maybe we can get a real name."

"Once she gets in?" Bucky asks incredulously.

Tessa turns to him with a frown. "Are you just going to repeat everything everyone else says?" He glowers at her and she relents. "Okay, fine. I get it. Like I said, it's less than ideal. But," she continues, turning to face the rest of the group, "this guy, whoever he is, is doing something that he shouldn't be doing… something with mutant genes. That something might be _good_ – maybe looking ways for ways to enhance DNA to prevent or even cure certain genetic diseases – or it could be something really, _really_ bad. Either way, I want to know."

To say that it took some convincing would be the understatement of the century. But in the end Tessa, Clint, and Natasha were able to talk Steve and Bucky into letting the meeting happen. There were certain parameters put in place, of course. For example, it had to be in a public place where they could be at least reasonably sure that they wouldn't lose her. Scofield said that Lobe wanted to meet at a place called Magellan's in upper Manhattan. Not ideal, but it would do. Tessa would get there early and sit in a pre-scouted location near the windows so that Bucky could see her from his position on one of the buildings across the street. Clint was able to move sites easier, so had a few spots he could go between in case they lost visual. Both Steve and Nat would be inside the restaurant, at the ready.

"Seems a bit like overkill," Tessa mumbles as she sits down at the predetermined table. The team had Tony call into the restaurant to reserve two of the surrounding tables, ensuring that no other diners would get in their way, so Tessa found herself sitting neatly tucked away in a small sea of empty tables while the rest of the place bustled around her. "Not too obvious," she snipes into the comms.

" _Are you gonna argue with all of my orders?_ " Steve asks from his position at a corner table.

"I'm not arguing. I'm ridiculing."

" _I think I'm over wanting you on the team_ ," he mutters. " _I'm ready for you to go back to your lab._ "

" _I got Scofield in my sights_ ," Bucky interrupts. " _He's entering the restaurant with two other men._ "

Tessa stands when she sees the older man make his way over to the hostess, two other men trailing closely behind him. The hostess points to her and she waves as the men turn to make their way over. She takes one look at their faces and… "Oh shit."

" _What?_ " Steve asks.

Clint is heard next. " _Is that –_ "

Tessa nods stiffly as the men arrive at her table.

" _Who?_ "

Clint barks out a laugh. " _Oh, man. No way!_ "

"Dr. Sullivan," Scofield greets, extending his hand to her. "This is my associate, Lobe."

She looks to the thin bald man and offers a rigid smile. "Very nice to meet you," she says, shaking his hand. He says nothing to her, and offers no smile nor hint of warmth.

"And I believe you already know Mr. Calvin," Dr. Scofield says with a coy grin.

The other man – a tall, muscular, dark-haired _specimen_ – quirks his lips as he too extends a hand. "Dr. Sullivan," he says, deep, rich voice sounding all too brazen.

" _Who the fuck is Mr. Calvin?_ " Bucky bites out.

She glares at him, refusing to touch his outstretched hand, opting instead to awkwardly, angrily stand and stare. " _Uh, Doc_ ," she hears through her earpiece. " _I know this is probably a bit of a shock. But you kind of need to get your shit together._ "

" _Who is this guy?_ " Steve asks again, more insistently.

Tessa cocks her head at the handsome man in front of her. "I thought you were dead."

He shows off a dazzling smile. "Oh, come on. You didn't really believe that."

"Well," she says, her jaw clenched, "a girl can dream."

" _Barton?_ " Steve nearly shouts through the comms, letting loose with a loud cough from his corner to cover the sound.

" _Remember when I told you guys I met her ex in Minsk?_ " he says, an all-too-playful lilt to his voice. " _That would be him._ "

" _You've gotta be kidding me,_ " Bucky mumbles, barely audibly.

" _Ah,_ " Natasha croons. She can barely be seen leaning forward on her bar stool, craning her neck to get a better look. " _I see what you mean about her_ type. _Tall, dark, and… very fuckable._ "

" _Romanov,_ " Steve chides. " _Try to be a professional._ "

Clint chuckles as he meanders across the street, moving to a second, closer location. " _Nat, did you just imply that Barnes is_ very fuckable _?_ "

" _This conversation is making me very_ uncomfortable," Bucky mutters as he follows the small group of people at the table through his rifle's sight.

Steve sighs loudly enough to be heard through the comms " _Can everyone please stop saying_ fuckable _?_ "

" _Captain Rogers,_ " Natasha intones " _you've got a dirty mouth._ "

Bucky takes his eye off the table and leans back for moment to blink heavily. " _Can we focus please?_ " he asks, clearly not amused.

They all watch as Scofield drops into a seat, the others slowly following suit. Between Lobe's very obvious general awkwardness, and the rather extreme tension between the Tessa and Mr. Calvin, the older doctor is the only one who seems even remotely at ease. "I must say," he begins, leaning back into his chair and popping open the menu in front of him, "I was rather surprised to hear that you hadn't spoken to Mr. Calvin in years." He glances up at Tessa and says with a chuckle, "Though I suppose if you thought he was dead, that would explain it." He turns to Lobe, who looks utterly disinterested. "Mr. Calvin does have a knack for faking his own death."

"Well," Calvin says, charm just oozing from his pores, "It's an unfortunate necessity in my line of work."

"And what line is that, exactly?" Tessa asks before nervously taking a quick swallow of water. "Nowadays, I mean."

Lobe answers for him in a deep, measured tone. "He's in… acquisitions."

"Personnel acquisitions?"

He stretches his lips into a long, slender, utterly terrifying smile, and says with a slight nod, "Of course."

" _That guy's not too creepy_ ," Natasha mutters over the comms as she slowly stirs the martini in front of her.

At the table, Calvin leans in, closing much of the distance between him and Tessa, as he says, in a manner obviously meant just for her, "I was a little disappointed you didn't mourn my passing like I thought you would."

She narrows her eyes at him. "How would you know whether or not I _mourned_? Were you keeping tabs on me?"

"Maybe a little," he says with a shrug.

" _Well I'm feeling a lot better about this guy being involved_ ," Bucky snipes sarcastically.

Rolling her eyes, Tessa mutters, "It wasn't the first time you _died_ , Cal. Besides, if you wanted it to be believable, you would have had a coked-out hooker stab you in a by-the-hour motel."

" _Oh, sounds like a keeper,_ " Clint says. " _Wonder why it didn't work out._ "

Steve clears his throat into the comms, a wordless order for everyone to _shut the hell up_.

At the same time, they hear Calvin laugh, soft and supple. "Car explosion was cheaper." Then, leveling Tessa with a thoughtful stare, "Still, I'd hoped you'd be a little more upset."

"I stopped getting upset about the things you do a long time ago. I'm over it."

"But you never quite got over _me_ , did you, sugar?" he asks with a wink.

She leans in, green eyes steely. "Do not call me that."

"They have a _history_ ," Scofield tells Lobe conspiratorially as he watches the scene unfold in front of him.

For his part, Lobe simply rolls his eyes. "I've heard good things about you, Dr. Sullivan."

She drops her angry glare and looks over to the man across from her. "Have you?" she asks. "From Dr. Scofield?"

He spends a long moment looking her up and down, seemingly assessing her very being, before responding with, "Yes."

She feels a shiver pulse through her, unsure if the anxiety she's feeling is a result of simply being nervous about this whole situation, or if it's due to the fact that this guy's energy is almost unreadable for her. She tries to cover the unease with a small smile. "Well, I do have a rather _full_ resume," she says.

Scofield chuckles a bit. "A rather _impressive_ resume, you mean." He turns to Lobe. "Before coming to Genetech, she studied with Dr. Moira MacTaggert."

Lobe's expression shifts to what seems like genuine interest. "At Muir Island?"

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Yes. For a time." Another put-on smile. "I was very young then. Still in med school."

He gives her another appraising look, this one ending in a wide-eyed grin. "I would very much like to know about your time there."

"Well…" she starts, not quite sure where to go.

"You know," Calvin interrupts suddenly, "I wouldn't mind having a moment alone with Dr. Sullivan. Just to catch up a bit." He shoots her a meaningful look before glancing back at Lobe. "A quick drink at the bar, maybe? Won't be but a few minutes."

"I'm not here to meet with you, Cal. I'm here to meet with Lobe," she says, uncertainty lacing her words.

"C'mon," he croons, reaching out and gently wrapping his fingers around her wrist. "One drink," he says with a small tug.

Instinctively, she jerks away as though she's been burned.

"It's fine, really," Scofield says absently, waving them off. "Go have a drink. Lobe and I have some things to discuss anyhow."

" _If you stay near the end of the bar, I'll still have visual_ ," Clint's voice sounds through the comms.

" _And from here I can get audio on whatever the other two talk about_ ," Steve says. " _Let's play this out._ "

"Fine," she says with a scowl, harshly pushing back her chair. Calvin jumps up as well, hurrying to catch up with her as she makes a beeline for the bar. He's next to her in just a few long strides, dropping his hand to the small of her back in a guiding gesture. "Stop it," she turns to growl at him.

"You used to like it when I touched you," he whispers in her ear as they both lean onto the bar. "Said it made easier to suck up all my… _intensity_."

" _He's a real charmer_ ," Natasha mutters from her spot at the opposite corner of the bar.

"What do you want?" Tessa asks him.

His eyes positively twinkle with mischief when he replies, "You really want me to answer that?"

" _Oh, if only he knew that her current tall, dark, and fuckable boyfriend had a high-powered rifle trained on him right now,_ " Clint hums.

She shakes her head impatiently, both at the man in front of her and the one in her ear. "Can you be serious for five seconds?"

"Sugar, after five years together, I'd think you'd know the answer to that," he says with an airy laugh.

" _Five years!_ "

" _Barton_ ," Steve barks out with obvious irritation.

Tessa sighs, long and drawn out. "What are you doing, Cal?" she asks with a shake of the head.

"I could ask you the same thing."

She looks up at him, her expression softening for the first time since he waltzed into the restaurant. "I'm serious. Do you even know who this guy is?"

The smug smile falls from his face, his lips tightening into a firm line. "I know enough about him to know that _you_ shouldn't be meeting with him."

She quirks her head at him. "Why is that?"

He leans in close, his lips grazing her hair as he whispers into her ear, "If he finds out what you are, he'll tear you apart and sell every piece to the highest bidder."

" _What was that?_ " Natasha asks, watching as Tessa's expression turns grave. " _What did he say?_ "

Calvin leans back and looks down at her. "You should go," he says with a small nod.

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before looking him right in the eye and issuing out, "Fuck. You."

A surprised laugh escapes him. "You're being pretty hostile right now," he tells her, quirking his brow. "Keep this up and I'll be left to assume you want to hate fuck in the ladies room like old times."

Someone snorts out a laugh into the comms. "That's not funny," she grumbles.

He reaches out and runs his fingertips along the curve of her hip. "It has been a _long time_ , sugar."

"I told you to stop calling me that," she says, taking hold of his forearm. He twists in her grip, grabs onto her hand and brings it to his lips for a lingering kiss.

" _I have a clean shot_ ," Bucky breathes out through the comms.

"Ugh," Tessa growls. "Stop it." Then she grasps his arm again and gives a strong tug, pulling him around into a corridor.

" _What the hell_ ," Bucky roars as soon as he loses visual. " _Romanov?_ "

" _I'm on it_ ," she responds, getting up and heading for the hallway that Tessa and Calvin disappeared into. She tries to remain casually hidden, not quite rounding the corner. But from her position… " _I can't get a clear visual._ "

She may have disappeared from their sight, but the team can still hear everything that Tessa says. "Who is he, Cal?" she asks hurriedly. "And what the fuck are you doing for him?"

"He's an entrepreneur. And I'm _acquiring_ things for him."

"Things?"

"C'mon, T. You know what I do. I go where the money is."

She takes a sharp inhale. "Tell me you didn't sell him the samples?"

"Samples? What samples?"

Her voice rises when she says, "The ones you stole from me in Belarus!"

He scoffs. "Those samples were sold a long time ago, sugar. And this guy… he's way past wanting some tricked-out, radioactive genes."

"The genes weren't radioactive," she corrects, impatiently. "They were _activated_ by radiation."

"Whatever," he says with a dismissive sweep of the hand. "You know I don't give a shit about the science."

"Right. You only care about the money."

"Look," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "I'm trying to look out for you here. Whatever you're doing – whatever you're up to – I'm telling you, _you need to stop_. Now."

"That's cute, Cal. Really. You thinking you can tell me what to do. Cute." She brushes past him and strides back over to their table, almost clipping Natasha on her way around the corner. "Mister," she starts, standing in front of the two men, "sorry… Lobe." She drops back into her seat with a saccharine smile. " _Lobe_ , what an interesting name."

"Not really," he says to her. He looks up as Calvin returns and takes his seat as well, a furrowed, concerned look on his face. "Everything alright, Mr. Calvin?"

"Yes, everything's fine."

"All done with your lovers' quarrel, I hope." He turns back to Tessa. "Can we finally talk business then?"

Tessa tosses a quick glance to Cal and takes in his warning glare. Then she gives Lobe a curt, but certain nod. "Yes, I think we should."


	27. You're My Strength

"What the hell was that?" Bucky angrily barks when he enters the conference room they commandeered at the tower.

Tessa doesn't even realize that he's talking to her, she's so consumed with reading the emails on her phone. But of course, everyone else in the room knows exactly who his words are directed at. Clint casually reaches over her and pries the phone from her hands. "Hey! That's important… that's work," she complains, smacking at him to get the phone back.

Bucky steps up so that he's directly in front of her, looming over her as she leans on the table at the center of the room. "I told you to stay in my sight." He seethes. "You don't disappear like that."

"What?" she asks, a scowl taking over her face. "Are you serious? I moved around the corner for like 30 seconds."

"The _one_ thing we agreed on was that you'd stay in our sights. The entire time. That's protocol."

"Protocol?" she laughs. " _You_ said you were going to shoot him."

He lets out and indignant scoff. "I wasn't going to shoot him! You were in the middle of a restaurant. In Manhattan. You think I'm an idiot?"

"You think I am?"

"Enough," Steve shouts, walking over to stand between the arguing couple. He turns to Tessa. "You were told to stay where we could see you. That was an order."

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Cal's a complete asshole, but he's no threat to me. Not like you're thinking."

"That's not the damn point," Bucky shoots out from behind Steve.

Steve levels her with a stare. "When you're in the field, you follow my orders. If you can't do that, you can't be a part of this team. Understood?"

"Am I supposed to salute now or something?" she says, crossing her arms tightly in front of her.

He takes a step closer. "Is that understood?" he asks again through gritted teeth.

If she is intimidated, she doesn't let it show, her stance remaining defiant even as she bitterly issues out, "Yes, sir."

"And you," he says, spinning around to face his friend, "You're not in charge here."

Bucky's face pinches, so taken aback by the statement. "What?"

"This is my op. You report to me. You don't threaten civilians – "

"It wasn't a real threat," he protests.

"You don't berate someone on my team," Steve goes on.

He throw up his arms in obvious irritation. "This is such bullshit."

Steve grabs his arm and drags him to a corner of the room, never mind the fact that Bucky's metal fingers furiously try to pry loose from his grip as they move. "You're pissed off, I get it," he says in a low tone. "But if you want to be on this team, I need you respect my authority. If someone on the team screws up, it's on _me_ to talk to them about it. Not you. Especially if that someone is your…"

Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly. "My…"

Steve rolls his eyes. "You know what I'm saying. If something happens with Tessa on a mission, you _need_ to let me handle it. I don't want to cut you loose. But if I feel like you can't be objective, I will."

Bucky grinds his jaw, positively seething at his friend's – _his captain's_ – words. "Understood," he grits out finally, realizing that there's really no logical argument he can make.

"Good." Steve turns back to the team. "Good," he says to everyone. "Okay. Let's head back to the compound for tonight. We can reconvene at 0700 to have an official debrief and plan our next move."

"I don't suppose anyone _else_ wants to give me a lift?" Tessa asks, not even bothering to look up from the phone that she finally managed to wrestle away from Barton.

"Oh no," Clint says, patting her on the shoulder as he heads for the door. "But just remember, if things get too tense, you two can always pull over and hate fuck in a bathroom somewhere." She punches him in the arm. Hard. But it doesn't keep him from raucously laughing as he strolls out of the room behind Nat and Steve.

000

They're in the car no more than five minutes when she starts worrying her hands so hard that he actually hears a knuckle pop. He glances down and sees the anxious tugging and bending that's caused her fingers to go white. "Stop that," he snaps.

She looks over at him with a pained expression. "I'm sorry about _leaving your sight_ , okay?" He doesn't respond, though she can see his jaw tense as he watches the highway in front of them. "Are you really that mad at me?"

He pinches his lips tightly together and looks away from the road just long enough to spare her a glimpse. "No."

She continues to nervously work her hands. "Are you sure? You seem pretty angry."

He takes in a long, deep breath. "I'm mad at you for disobeying orders." His eyes drop to the abused fingers in her lap and he sighs as he removes his right hand from the steering wheel and drops it onto her hands, pulling them apart. He laces his fingers with hers and turns his attention back to the road. "But I'm not really mad at you."

She swallows hard and gives his hand a sharp squeeze. "I'm not good at following orders."

"Yeah," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he moves his hand back to the wheel. "I know."

"Steve got _very_ captain-y," she hums, brows raised. "I thought he was going to ground me."

Bucky lets loose with a small chuckle, though he tries to hide it. "You'd deserve it."

She shifts in her seat, turning to face him. "I popped around the corner for less than a minute."

"A minute is all it takes," he says, tone suddenly serious.

"He wasn't going to hurt me. He wouldn't do that."

"You don't know that," he says, the pinched expression returning to his face.

"I _do_ know that. I know him."

"Right," he says, a sardonic laugh escaping him. "You know him pretty damn well, huh?"

"Aha!" If it weren't for the fact that she was belted in, she would be jumping right out of her seat. "I _knew_ you were mad."

"I'm not mad," he seethes. "You have a past. So do I. You've been with other men."

"So have you?"

He slowly turns his head to give her an irritated look. He's met with a very recognizable shit-eating grin. "I'm not mad about that. I didn't like finding out about him this way…"

Her expression falls and she pivots a bit in her seat, leaning her head back as she stares at him. "I didn't know… It honestly didn't occur to me…"

"I know." He turns his soft blue eyes to her just long enough to momentarily meet her gaze.

"I didn't really think he was dead." She crinkles her brow. "Well, he could've been and it wouldn't have surprised me. But… I honestly didn't think I'd ever see him again."

They sit in silence for a good mile and half before Bucky nervously utters, "You were with him for five years."

She scoffs loudly. "Hardly." She pulls her legs up underneath her, folding herself up on the leather seat. "I mean… technically, maybe."

"Technically _maybe_?"

"It was… complicated."

He continues to stare straight ahead at the road, makes no move to look at her when he asks, "Did you love him?"

She hesitates only briefly. "Yes."

He gives a slow nod as he takes that in. "Even though he's an asshole?"

Sniggering, she replies, " _Because_ he's an asshole. Always was." She looks out the window wistfully. "The guy you saw today is the guy he's always been. Just a giant ball of selfish, blind ambition."

Bucky raises his brows thoughtfully. "Sounds a little like someone else I know."

"You think I'm selfish?" she frowns at him.

He glances over at her with a playful smile. "Blindly ambitious," he clarifies.

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. I guess we did have that in common."

"So…" he prompts when she falls silent.

"So what?"

"So why would you fall in love with an asshole?" He looks over and sees the thoughtful frown on her face. "Am I an asshole?" he asks, a hint of sincerity mixed in with the teasing.

She looks positively stricken when she turns to him. "God, no. Baby," she says, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, "You're amazing."

"I'm amazing?" he laughs.

She leans closer to him, curling around the center console in an attempt to be next to him. "You care so much… about me and Steve, and everyone else you love. And you _love_! And you show it." Falling back into her seat, she turns her face away. "Cal was never like that. Not at all."

"He didn't love you?"

She shrugs. "I think he did. He's just… different. And honestly, at that time, when I was with him – at least in the beginning – I don't think I would've really accepted love… not the kind of love that _you_ give me, anyway," she finishes with a soft smile.

Bucky nods for a moment, thinking through what he wants to ask next. "But he never… hurt you?"

"Well," she breathes out. "I was young, dumb, and in love. And he was _a bit_ older, way more experienced, and, you know, an asshole."

"Physically," he states, a rough edge to his voice. She gives him a confused look. "That dream you had," he says, struggling to get the words out. "Someone choked you."

She takes a sharp inhale and shakes her head emphatically. "No. No, that wasn't Cal."

"So… some other asshole boyfriend?"

Sighing, she leans her head back on the headrest. "That was before Cal. A long time ago. When I was even younger and dumber." She looks over at him and sees his jaw tick as his eyes remain fixed on the road ahead. "You've been holding onto that one," she says with a smirk.

He gives her a _get serious_ look, but says nothing.

They sit in silence for a long moment, the only sound the low hum of the barely there music on the radio. She lets out a single, long-held breath. "It was in college. I was 18 and living a double life. Science nerd in a fast-track med program by day. Vigilante mutant X-Man by night. Well, some nights." He glances over at her and sees that she's staring pensively out the passenger's side window as she speaks. "There was this guy… just a normal, smart guy. _Normal_. You know how it is, you go out a few times. You have a good time. You think, hey, this is great, he really likes me! And I'd never been with a _normal_ guy before. But then it was like a switch somewhere flipped and…" She shrugs again.

"And?" he asks, his voice timid.

She turns to face him and the two lock eyes for a brief moment before he's forced to look back at the road. Once he turns away, she continues, slowly, achingly. "That night, things got… heated. More heated than usual. And he shoved me. And then he choked me. And I _started_ to use my powers. But then I thought… if you do that, everyone will know. At Xavier's I was… me. Whatever that meant. But in the real world… I had to be someone else. Some _thing_ else." She closes her eyes tightly, squeezing them shut for a single, long moment. "Like I said, I was young and dumb."

He sits with her words for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. Then… "You let someone just…" He can't quite bring himself to finish the thought, so she does it for him.

"Rape me?"

His eyes go wide, chest tightens. He had thought that might've been what happened. But hearing the word… It's almost too much to take, and all at once, his mind veers back to Cal. "Why would you love someone who's bad to you?" he asks, the question tumbling out over his lips as he slowly pulls the car over to the side of the road.

"What?" she asks, genuinely confused.

He puts the car in park and turns to her. "Why would you let someone hurt you?"

She looks into his eyes and sees indisputable pain, as though just hearing that she's been hurt in the past had somehow managed to knock the wind out of him. "Are… are you talking about…"

"I'm talking about all of it, Tessa. I'm talking about this guy… Cal. I'm talking about re-hiring Max. I'm talking about this… thing in college."

"I just told you about that. I didn't want to be found out. I didn't want to be the mutant _freak_."

He shakes his head and stares her down, his light eyes suddenly swimming in unshed tears. "I'm talking about me almost killing you."

" _Jesus_!" She rips off the seatbelt and propels herself upright in the car seat, up onto her knees that had been tucked beneath her. "We've been through this!"

"Have we?" he asks, voice a little too calm.

"You didn't mean to hurt me. You would _never_ mean to hurt me!"

"But I did."

She shakes her head, frustration causing a bright blush to grow over her cheeks and burn at the tips of her ears. "I shouldn't have to explain to you why I did or didn't do something… I shouldn't have to explain to you why I forgave you for something that wasn't even your fault."

"I never asked for an explanation. Because I know I would've forgiven you too. But… I'm worried there's something more here. A pattern." He speaks while staring down at his own hands, either too upset or too certain of his words to be willing to look her in the eye as he utters them.

Tessa takes in a deep breath and markedly blows it out. Anger and frustration are causing tears to build in her eyes and clog the back of her throat. "I'm sorry you feel that way," she chokes out.

At hearing her tear-filled voice, his gaze shifts up. He locks eyes with her and his frown deepens. "I just want what's best for you," he says, soft sincerity lacing his words.

She lets out a single, harsh guffaw. "That's what you say to a _child_ , James. I'm not a fucking child."

"Okay." He turns back to the road, stares ahead at the setting sun in the distance. The car continues to run, engine idling in rhythm with the slight hum of the music on the radio.

Tessa shifts, unfolding her legs from beneath her and sliding back down into her seat. "Cal was like a drug for me," she says softly. "His energy was… intense. And penetrating. I… I _felt_ it." She sniffles a bit and swipes at a few errant tears that rolled down her cheeks. "It's not a _pattern_. I'm not some insecure little girl who goes looking for pain because she thinks she deserves it."

He pivots his head toward her, gazing at the side of her still-red face as she focuses her eyes straight ahead. "What is it then?"

She shakes her head absently – "It's me." – and turns her glistening gaze to him for the briefest of moments. "Sometimes… I feel _so much_ that it's like I can't actually feel anything at all. I can't really explain it. Feeling energy… it's just something I can do. It's like seeing or hearing. Or smelling." She turns her body towards him and reaches out, takes his hand in hers. "You know what it's like when you smell something for so long, and you get used to it… sensitized? And then you just can't smell it anymore?"

He nods.

"I think I have a better handle on it now. Probably not always. But I can sort of… tune people out now in a way that I couldn't before. But _then_ … when I first met Cal… I just _needed_ to feel. And he had this sort of powerful energy that was just so… big. And I _needed_ it. Because it was the only thing I could really feel. Sometimes I still get like that." She pulls in a sharp breath. "And sometimes that intensity is bad… yeah. Sometimes it's unhealthy or… or hurtful." Then, looking deep into his eyes, she says simply, "But sometimes I need it."

He pulls his hand from hers and reaches up to her face to swipe away a few tear tracks with the pad of his thumb. He gives her a small, almost sad smile. "Do you get that from me?"

A slight chuckle escapes her, as do a few more tears as her eyes shift down. "At first, maybe. Yeah, you have a sort of brooding intensity. And that was probably the first thing that attracted me to you." She looks back up at him, takes in his frown. "Then I got to know you, and I realized there was so much _more_ to be attracted to. And then I _really_ got to know you…"

"I don't like the idea of you wanting to be with me because of that."

"Baby, it's just… you." She snuggles her cheek into his open palm. "Your energy is bright and intense and brave and… How could I not want to be around that?" He looks less than convinced as he drops his hand from her face and swallows hard. So she goes on, ready to explain. "Everyone has a certain energy signature. The people I know well, I can tell when they're in a room, sometimes when they're in the same building as me, even if I can't see or hear them. I can _feel_ them."

He nods. "Yeah, you've mentioned that before."

"But the thing I've noticed, the thing I've figured out over the years, is that inside that signature there's this _one thing_. It almost feels dumb to put a word to it… a single word really isn't enough to properly describe it… but…" She pauses for moment and chews the inside of her cheek as she thinks. "Natasha," she starts again. "She's this fierce, determined, fearless, smart, amazing woman."

He raises his brows and nods. "Okay. Sure."

"That _thing_ that I can sense, the most potent piece of her energy signature… it's vulnerability. It's something she hides well, but I can see it… _feel_ it. And Steve… When he's around I'm swept up in this overwhelming desire for _justice_. It might not be something he's always thinking about, but it's so much a part of him that even his base energy just exudes it. Clint gives off joy. Even when he's at his worst. Even when he doesn't _feel_ happy at all. He still _is_ joy. Sam is love," she says with a small laugh. "Pure and simple. And Tony is – it might sound crazy – _insecurity_. Bruce is fear," she finishes with a frown.

Bucky gives her a thoughtful look. "What am I?"

She gazes at him, a small smile blooming on her face. "You're my strength," she says wistfully. "I might've noticed the intensity at first… the anger, the pain, the confusion… all of that created this force that sucked me in. But the closer I got to you, the easier it was to see what was hidden beneath all of those _loud_ elements. You've made it through so much. You fought your way back from hell. You never gave up. You, my dear," she says with a teasing glint, "are stronger than anyone I've known. At your core. It's something that just… _burns_ inside of you."

He drops his head, a bit of a blush taking over his face. "That _sounds_ better than… intensity."

She laughs, a light and airy sound that makes his heart beat quicken. "Oh, you still have _intensity_. But what I get from you… it's good."

He looks up at her, still ducking his head. "Are you sure?"

She nods. "Cal was a destructive drug. You… you're like… you're like coffee."

He snorts out a laugh. "I'm like _coffee_?"

Slowly, she climbs over the center console in the car and into his lap. He shifts to let her settle in as she wraps her arms around him. Laying her head on his shoulder, she mutters simply, "You sustain me."


	28. Minsk

They all agreed – some more begrudgingly than others – that it would be a good idea for Tessa to see what she could find out from Cal before getting in any deeper with Lobe. The _ingenious businessman_ , as he had referred to himself, had invited Tessa to come out to his temporary facility outside of Albany. But try as they might, none of them could find anything about this mysterious site. And – "You're not going out to some off-the-radar science lab on your own. Not with the current lack of intel we have." – Steve was the one giving the orders.

Well, if intel is what he wants...

"I'm telling you," she says, as Natasha hooks up the not-even-remotely-noticeable bug in the hem of her sweater, "He's not going to help."

Steve looms in the foreground, arms folded across his chest. "He doesn't have to _help_. Just get him talking and we can sift through all of it later."

"It's looking like this might be more than we thought," Clint mumbles from his position at the conference table. He's busy looking through all of the virtual files that he and Nat had spent the last few days compiling. Swiping through another page on the holoscreen in front of him, he says simply, "Since all of the Terrigenesis stuff started, people have been paying more and more attention to… _super_ people." He glances up to raise a single eyebrow at Tessa. "Depending on what his end game is, this Lobe guy could be the next big bad."

"Then by all means, let's go waste some time grabbing coffee with some crony instead of figuring out what the _big bad_ is up to," she snarks with a pout.

Natasha triggers the bug to make sure everything is set up and pats Tessa on the shoulder. "You're good," she tells her. "Just don't conveniently spill a drink on it when you two start in about the past." She shoots her a playful, crooked smile before turning to gather her things.

"Alright," Steve starts, manner and voice all business. "I'll be in the back of the café." He moves over to Tessa and gently reaches out to grab her shoulders. "I know this should go without saying, but _do not_ leave my sight."

She rolls her eyes. "You really think I'd take off with him?"

" _I_ might," Nat mutters from across the room.

" _That_ ," Steve intones, pointing at Natasha, "is why you three are all off comms."

Clint rises and shuts down the computer in front of him. "See? Once again, your sexual appetite has us sidelined."

Natasha cocks a brow in his direction. "My sexual appetite has gotten us _out_ of more jams than it's ever gotten us _into_."

Steve visibly winces. "Enough. Come on, guys. Can we just… not?"

Natasha shrugs and shoves some equipment into Bucky's hands. He almost drops it and has to regain his balance as she piles more crap into his arms. "Make yourself useful, Sargent," she tells him. "You can't just stand there brooding in silence all day."

"I don't know," Clint says as he takes some of the load off Bucky. "If anybody can do it, he can." He gives the silent, gloomy looking man a wink and heads for the door.

000

It makes perfect sense, of course, that the three of them would be sequestered in a van down the block. Well, maybe it doesn't really makes sense why _all three_ of them would be… Natasha was the only one actually needed in here working the recording equipment. But Clint wasn't about to sit any part of this out. And Bucky was _obviously_ not going to let Tessa go out there without being close by. Even if no one really believed that she was in any danger.

After all, this was just a simple, casual meetup with a potentially knowledgeable contact who _might_ be able to supply some intel on what now seemed to be an ongoing op. Fine. No big deal. His lab rat girl was just now invariably working out in the field. He could handle that.

Well, he'd be able to handle it a lot better if he had her in his sights. And if he had a weapon, some sort of recourse, in case something did go wrong. But no sniper should be needed today – especially not one who admittedly _kind of_ wants to blow off the head of the guy she's meeting with.

"How you holding up, Barnes?" Clint asks as he bumps Bucky's shoulder with his.

He sighs, long and loud. "I'm not used to being non-essential."

"Yeah, well… Think of this," he says, sweeping his hand across the tight space of the cargo van, "as a chance to play stakeout. It's like we're the FBI!"

"Hunting down mob bosses?" Natasha supplies as she hands each of them an earpiece. There won't be any comms going, so they can't talk to Tessa. And they'll only be in contact with Steve if something goes wrong. But thanks to the high-tech bug in Tessa's sweater, they'll be able to hear everything going on at the café down the block.

"Exactly." His smile fades a bit when he looks back over at Bucky and notices the concerned look on his face. "Did you two get a chance to talk?" he asks him in a low tone. Natasha would be able to hear, of course, there's barely a foot of space between them. But his voice makes it clear that this talk is between just the two of them.

He nods. "Yeah. We're good."

"Cause, you know, the other day… we were just joking around. I mean… I was there at the tail end of their _thing_. It wasn't anything like what you and Doc have."

The sincerity in his voice, makes the corners of Bucky's lips quirk up into a small smile. "I know," he says. Then, his face transforming into a confused sort of pout. "I forgot you said that you met him. That was when you first met Tessa, right?"

Clint settles back into the cushioned bench that runs the length of the van. "Yep. Minsk."

"Funny, isn't it? How we mark moments in our lives by either the name of the op or the location of the mission," Natasha utters, without turning around. She continues to busy herself with the recording equipment, doing one final test to make sure everything is working as it should.

Clint lets out just the shortest of chuckles. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"So what happened there?" Bucky asks, genuine interest perking his voice.

Clint gives him a suspicious look. "She never told you?"

He shakes his head. "In case you haven't noticed, Tessa's not great about sharing things from her past."

Natasha finally turns and joins the men in the rear of the van, all equipment up and running. "Did you know she graduated from med school when she was 23?" she asks incredulously. "I only found that out last year."

"How'd she manage that?" Clint asks, taken aback.

She merely shrugs. "That, she did not share."

He pulls in a deep breath and drops his raised brows. "Well… the thing in Minsk was kind of a shit show."

"You were sent by Fury, right?"

He nods. "Genetech had a facility on Long Island that was shut down back in the 1980s. SHIELD found out about some nanocontagion they'd let loose, and they moved in and took out the whole operation. Or so they thought," he says with a glint. "Fury heard rumblings about the company starting up again in Eastern Europe, so he sent a couple of us to go check it out."

"Who'd you go with?" she asks.

He shrugs. "McAllen."

"Ugh," she responds, obviously sharing his less-then-enthused view of whoever Agent McAllen is.

"So Genetech was what?" Bucky inquires. "Some kind of medical lab?"

"Hardly," Natasha answers. "They were a powerful med firm, specializing in genetic research. They were started by a guy who designed bio-weapons with Howard Stark."

"Can't say they were always exactly reputable," Clint intones. "But they did manage to get a big following in the scientific community. No surprise, really, that some new facility popped up even after the company was supposedly shut down."

"And no surprise that someone like Tessa would want to work there," Natasha says simply.

"True," Clint declares. "But, she knew something was up. And she was the only one there willing to help me figure out what it was."

"What was it?" Bucky asks.

"Long story short? They were engineering a gene that would mutate when exposed to radioactive energy." He frowns briefly. "I'm still not really sure about the science of it, but the theory was that, if they could introduce it into a human host, and then expose the host to radioactive material, they could create a… super _person_."

Bucky grimaces. "A super soldier?"

He cocks his head as if to say, _maybe_. "The higherups didn't really share their plans with Doc… and she was the only one who shared anything with me."

"So wait," Natasha interrupts, suddenly onto something. "The radioactive genes, or whatever they were… the samples that Tessa accused Calvin of stealing – "

"One and the same." He clears his throat before going on. "I shared some _confidential_ intel with Doc about what Genetech had been up to all those years ago. And she agreed to hand over some files on the work they'd been doing. But before she could get them all copied, the facility went on lockdown – with us trapped in it – because samples of the nearly perfected genes had been stolen. She knew right away who did it. Went on a little tirade in the office while alarms were going off around us. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and she's mumbling and yelling about how that _son of a bitch_ had sworn he was there for _her_ and not _some damn job_." He smiles and shakes his head. "Whew, she was _pissed_."

"How did you get out?" Natasha asks. Her chin rests on her fist as she watches the man, clearly enthralled by his story.

"Right, well. First we got caught. Armed guards rushed the office, saw we were stealing files. Chaos ensues… yada yada yada," he says, waving his hand in a glib gesture. "I got shot. Doc let loose."

Bucky frowns. "She used her powers?"

"Yep. Smoked 'em. All eight of them. They just… dropped." He takes in a deep breath. "She got us out of there and we holed up in this old factory outside of town while she fixed me up." He turns to Bucky and says, utter sincerity lacing his words, "That was about two weeks before my daughter was born. If not for Doc, I never would have gotten to know my little girl. Never would've even _made_ Nathaniel." With a small smile, he tells him, "I'm never gonna be able to repay her for that."

Natasha scoffs. "Sounds like you never would've been in that position if it hadn't been for that asshole Calvin."

"Oh ho," Clint says, raising a brow, "So now you agree he's an asshole? Is your crush fading?"

She shrugs. "He's still hot as hell. But it sounds like he almost got two of my best friends killed. So if I meet him, I might just have to end him."

Bucky looks to Clint, curiosity lacing his features. "You said you met him?"

"Ah, yeah," he breathes out. "During my first meeting with Doc… I showed up a little early at this bar and saw them together. He was laughing and whispering in her ear and shit. And she was looking _not_ amused. I stopped him on his way out of the bar… asked if he was an American… you know, play the whole _what a small world_ card. He told me he was in Minsk on business, but would only be in town a few more days. I asked about the woman he was with at the bar, if she was his girlfriend… _small talk_ ," he says with a wink. "The guy just laughs and says _when I want her to be_. Prick. Then he lights up a cigarette, shakes my hand, and disappears into the night."

"And no one ever caught him? After stealing the samples?" Natasha asks.

"Nah. Doc said he was sort of a mercenary… doing whatever needed to be done for whoever was the highest bidder. So it was no surprise he managed to disappear. That guy in Africa, the one that Ultron got the vibranium from? Saw Calvin with him in some photos taken about ten years back. _That's_ the kind of guy he is. Anyway, it was just a few months after Minsk that he got made by MI-6… doing some kind of dirty deal. But then he conveniently got blown up in a car bomb before they could nail him."

Bucky lets out an irritated huff from his corner of the van. "Nice," he says with a nod. "Good story. I feel much better about this guy now."

Clint laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. "The takeaway from all of this is that Doc's been done with that guy for years. And she knows who he really is. She's not gonna get sucked into his lies or manipulation."

"I never really expected her to," he mumbles.

Clint takes in the thoughtful expression on Bucky's face and adds, "She's grown up a lot since then. I, for one, think she's been making much better decisions."

The corner of Natasha's mouth quirks up. "Yeah, from asshole mercenary to brooding ex-assassin."

Clint tosses a reproachful look over his shoulder at her. "Even I think that was crass." He turns back to Bucky. "Sarge, after what she did for me, I'll have Doc's back for life. So if I thought she was wasting her time with someone who didn't deserve her, I'd chase him off in a heartbeat."

Bucky cocks his head at the man to his right. "You _haven't_ been trying to chase me off these last couple years?" he asks with a smirk. "You're saying this is just how you are?"

Clint snorts. "Hilarious. See?" he says, turning to Natasha. "They're made for each other."

She throws up a silencing hand and presses the earpiece into her ear. "We're on," she says, tone suddenly all business. "The asshole is in the building."


	29. The Third Species

"That smells awful," she tells him as he takes a seat across from her, setting down his mug in the process.

"It's peppermint tea," says with a smirk.

Tessa scrunches up her nose. "That's disgusting. Be a man and drink some coffee."

Cal lets out a smooth sort of chuckle as he leans back in his chair. "Nah. I gave up coffee a while ago. Too many jitters." He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Maybe you should try tea too."

She gives him an odious look. "I'm not jittery."

"Okay," he drawls out amid a sardonic laugh.

"I'm not," she protests. "What the fuck?"

"See that?" he points at her. " _That_ is irritability. Still working too much and never sleeping?" he asks with a knowing smirk. "You should at least try to stop drinking coffee after four."

"Thanks for the advice," she deadpans.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. In a low voice, he asks, "Want some more advice?" She simply stares ahead at him. "Back out of this meetup with Lobe."

"Why?"

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to avoid her glare. "What are you doing, sweetheart?"

"Cal – "

"No," he interrupts, looking up and jerking his hands into a silencing posture. " _What are you doing_?"

There's a very real, very palpable tension in the air that throws her off. She'd been trying to block out his energy ever since he sat down, not at all interested in reliving old times by pulling in his… _essence_. But she couldn't block out the unease he was putting out now. It was a sort of anger and apprehension in one, perhaps a bit of hostility too. She looks up at him with confused eyes. "Why are you so _mad_?" she asks without thinking.

"Mad?" he repeats, face turning stern. He leans in even further and hisses out, "I know you're not looking for another job. I know that Stark just asked you to run some new division."

Taken aback, she asks, "How do you know that?"

He scoffs. "People talk, sugar."

"Well, that doesn't mean I'm taking it. I figure, now's a good time to look around and see if there's anything… better out there."

"Better than being on the board of what is arguably the single most powerful corporation in the world?" He gives her a skeptical stare. "Bullshit."

"You don't know me," she replies, sounding every bit the petulant child. "Not anymore."

He simply smiles in return. "Yes I do." His eyes narrow as he continues to stare her down. "Now what are you up to?"

She looks away, leans back with her coffee cup in hand, and turns her gaze out the window to the passersby on the street. With a long sigh, she mutters, "How bad is it?" When Cal doesn't respond, she turns her eyes back toward him, sees him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "What's he doing, Cal?"

"He's trying to create the Third Species," he says without preamble.

For the briefest of moments, Tessa's breath is taken away. The Third Species. It's something that Xavier had taught them all about. When she was still a child, she had read John Sublime's bizarre manifesto about _worthy_ humans who could attain special powers by reaping them from enhanced individuals. These men and women could choose the abilities they believed they deserved… and then steal them from others. From _mutants_. In Sublime's mind, mutants were nothing more than some sort of crop, something to be harvested and broken down and consumed for the benefit of others. It had turned her stomach that someone would think that way. And it had given her nightmares to realize that his ideas had sparked a sort of cult following.

During her time in the X-Men, there were at least two instances when they encountered these followers. They'd dubbed themselves the U-Men. And while they certainly played the part of dangerous, radical extremists, they did not ever seem to have any sort of special powers, despite claiming that they one day would. But what if they were right? What if they _could_ harvest mutant powers and use them to enhance themselves. That sort of thing wasn't exactly out of the realm of possibility. Afterall, Dr. Sublime had been a participant in the Weapon X program that had turned Logan into the Wolverine… and the Super Soldier program that had successfully created Captain America from a sickly, spindly Steve Rogers.

"He's part of the U-Men?" she asks hesitantly.

Cal almost laughs. "Those lunatics? No way. This guy… he's way more dangerous than a bunch of dorky zealots." He raises an assessing brow. "He's a businessman. And he recognizes an opportunity."

"To give people… super powers?" Her voice goes high at the end, taking on a disbelieving and almost fearful tone.

"Look around, sugar," he says, falling back into his seat. "Ever since aliens invaded our planet and your boss put together a band of merry gentleman with superpowers of their own to fight it… _everybody_ wants to be… better."

Her brow furrows as she states, "That's not true."

"Okay, not _everybody_. Some people want everyone with super powers to be eradicated." She gives him a horrified look and he smiles at her gently. "What happens every time there's another mass shooting in this country?" he asks. When she doesn't respond, only twists her face in confusion, he goes on. "People either want to ban all guns… eliminate the threat. Or they want to arm themselves to the teeth so that they can fight fire with fire." He reaches across the table and lays his hand on top of hers. "People are scared. And they want to be able to protect themselves. Now more so than ever. And in this day and age – when aliens attack and robots plan a genocide and the number of mutants born everyday is on the rise… and now _inhumans_? People are looking for more than just a conceal and carry license to protect themselves and their loved ones."

She sits with that for a long moment before shaking off his hand and sitting upright. "So he's taking Sublime's plans for creating the Third Species and he's going to try to make it a reality. And then he's going to sell it," she states, no question in her words.

Calvin nods. "He's already got a team of four scientists working on it. Two geneticists, including Scofield. And two bioengineers. The plan is to attack the problem from both sides."

"Because Sublime believed that tissue transplantation would cause the genesis of mutant powers in the host," she extrapolates.

"And there might be some validity to that," he continues. "At least that's what the bioengineers are saying."

"But really, the best option would be gene therapy."

"Which Sublime was unaware of in his day," he supplies. "So Lobe's thinking that between the two disciplines he can accomplish what that other lunatic couldn't."

Her features darken and her hands wrap so tightly around the mug in front of her that her fingers go white. "Where is he getting the… materials?"

Cal breathes out slowly. "I've brought him a few black market items. Ones I've managed to acquire through old contacts."

She closes her eyes and tries to fight off the sudden swell of nausea. "Because you're in _acquisitions_."

"Everything's still just getting started," he assures her. "They're only running preliminary tests… or something. I know they aren't into any trials yet." He pauses and a shadow flits across his face. "It's only a matter of time before they start looking for candidates." She looks up at him and he hesitates before saying, "For harvesting."

Tessa nods her head, the movement growing more insistent as she thinks about what's been said. And what needs to be done. "So we have to shut him down," she mumbles, mostly to herself. "We have to make sure it doesn't get that far."

He reaches across the table and takes hold of her wrist. With his other hand, he wrestles the coffee mug from her grip and then holds tightly to both of her hands. "I promise you I won't ever participate in anything like… that." With a serious look and a more intense squeeze, he says, "But I don't know that you or anyone else can stop this train."

She pulls away harshly, her eyes suddenly shooting around the café cagily. "How can you say that?"

"It's the times we're living in, sweetheart. Look around you."

"So I should just stand by and do nothing? Just let some… some _human_ use my people for profit?"

He laughs bitterly. "Your people? Give me a fucking break." He gives her a disgusted look. "When was the last time you even talked to _your people_? To your _family_?"

"That's not…" she starts, losing the words to defend herself almost immediately.

"You've been hiding and denying who you are for so long…" He scoffs loudly. "At this point, I'm more in touch with mutants than you are."

"God help them, then," she issues out angrily.

"Look, you want to finally stop pretending you're something you're not, great. Go for it. I, for one, think the world could use Supernova right about now." She visibly flinches when he uses the name. _Supernova_. An alias she hasn't heard nor spoken aloud in years. "But I'm telling you, for your sake, stay away from Lobe."

She leans across the table, positioning herself mere inches from him. "I won't let this go," she says. "I _will_ bring him down. So I'm telling _you_ , for _your_ sake, stay out of my way." And she rises and storms out of the café.


	30. It Won't Change the Past

"No. Absolutely not. No way in hell." It's not simple pacing, not this time. No, Tony is positively _stalking_ around the room. "I'm sorry, how did we even get this far?" he questions, spinning on a heel to face the group before him.

"Well," Natasha starts, "most of us got here through sheer will and tenacity."

Steve dramatically rolls his eyes. "You were out of the country. We didn't think you needed to know all of the details."

"Great," he says, throwing his hands up in the air. "So glad to be part of the team." He turns to Tessa and levels her with a stern stare. "I expected better from you."

She frowns. "Why?"

"Why? Because you… you're supposed to be smarter than… than them!"

She walks over to him and takes hold of his shoulders. "Tony, I know you hate feeling out of the loop. That's why we're telling you about this now. But you have to understand, we're not asking for your permission."

" _We_?" he intones bitterly. "When exactly did you all become a _we_?"

"Haven't you been trying to get me to be part of the team for… forever?" she asks, voice rising an octave in irritation. "Well, I'm here. I'm part of the team."

"You always were part of the team," Steve says, stepping forward. "And we may not be asking for permission, but the point of this debrief is to get _everyone's_ opinion on where to take this next. Because we _are_ a team."

Bucky raises his eyebrows. "That was inspiring," he mutters sarcastically. "Now should we vote?"

"Not if your vote is to drop it," Tessa tells him.

"My vote is for _you_ to stay out of it."

"I second that," Tony says, raising his hand high.

"This whole thing only works if Tessa's involved," Natasha says from her perch on the arm of the couch.

"No," Tony drones. "No." He pinches the bridge of his nose and blinks hard before going on. "If this guy is really doing what your ex… _lover_ says he is, if he's actually dicking around with highly regulated gene research, then we just need to turn him over to the proper authorities. Those being, not us."

"So they can tell us there's not enough evidence to launch an investigation?" Steve questions. "And in the meantime, he gets that much closer to developing some kind of super human."

"And marketing it," Clint supplies.

"And he'll do it by torturing and killing mutants," Tessa says soberly.

" _And_ ," Tony says, "I don't want him to do any of that, obviously. But that doesn't make this our problem."

Steve's face turns livid. "Oh come on, Tony! If we don't do something about this, there's a damn good chance no one will. And you know that!"

"So let's just throw our mutant _teammate_ into the fray," he counters angrily. "Let's just send her over to the guy who's looking for mutants to experiment on. Yeah, that sounds like a great plan!"

"It's a terrible plan," Bucky mumbles under his breath.

"Do you have a better one?" Steve asks.

"No!" Tony exclaims. "That's why I said we should drop it!"

"All we need her for is access," Steve tries, calming his tone as he explains. "Lobe already invited her out to their temporary facilities. If we can just find out where they are and get Tess in, then she can plant the bugs and…"

"Then what?" Bucky asks suddenly. "Then she'll be done? You think she'll step aside after that?" He turns his gaze to Tessa, who shakes her head in response to his inquiry. "That's what I thought."

"She'll do what I tell her to do," Steve says, voice dripping with authority.

They all turn to look expectantly at Tessa, and to her credit, she doesn't argue. Instead she gives a curt nod and an – albeit sarcastic sounding – "Yes, sir."

Tony sighs, long and loud. "I think you're all being idiots." He turns to Tessa, "You most of all." She glares at him, but says nothing. He ambles over to her, gets within inches of her face and whispers, "Doing this won't change anything. You think you're helping mutants, but you'll never be able to help the ones you lost."

She turns on him and spits out, "I know that." Then, after a deep breath, "That's not what this is about."

"Sure," he says, backing away. "Well… you have my opinion," he tells the team as he moves toward the door. "I'll be in Vienna for a few days. Try not to get anyone killed while I'm gone."

A stillness settles over the room, the remaining Avengers sitting in silence, waiting to see who's willing to offer up the next _opinion_. Bruce had been working on a special project in Antwerp for a few weeks now, so he was wholly unaware of the op. That seemed like a saving grace to Steve and Tessa, neither of whom wanted to have to defend their plans to the eternal cynic. Sam had already made a point of saying that he was in – but of course he was, where Steve led, the Falcon followed. Natasha was on board, always ready to break the monotony of a day up with some missions.

Steve was surprisingly adamant about doing this. It wasn't always 100% clear whether he was so opposed to the thought of additional super soldiers because of the harm they could cause to the word, or because of the harm they could cause to his reputation. Some people thought that he wanted to be the only one. At least, that was a theory that Bucky had proposed once after he and Steve got into it following a sparring match that landed the Captain flat on his back without an ounce of breath left in his lungs. _You're just pissed off because you're not the strongest, fastest guy here anymore_ , he'd told him, leaving the fuming soldier to pout.

Whatever the reason, Tessa was just happy he was on her side.

And maybe Tony was right. Maybe this was about something more for her. Maybe it was a sort of atonement for past ills. For abandoning her family. For abandoning herself. Maybe, but none of that would change the fact that this was the right thing to do.

The only ones in the room who had not yet spoken were Wanda, Clint and Vision. And being as Clint just cannot handle an awkward silence, he's the first to break. "Tony might be right," he says simply, head ducked.

Natasha scoffs. "Traitor."

"She's not exactly experienced in the art of espionage," he intones, waving his hand to indicate Tessa.

Natasha unfolds her arms from across her body and stares him down. "Did we not just discuss how little we actually know about her? And she _loves_ us. I think," she says, giving Tessa a side-eye glance. "If she can keep so much of her life hidden from _us_ , keep her secrets that close to the vest for _years_ , I think she can handle spending a few hours as a disgruntled geneticist looking for a job."

"I'm just saying, she doesn't have the training to be put into the field. It's not that I don't have faith in her… but she's unproven."

"So she's new to undercover work. She's been hiding the fact that she's a mutant for how long now?"

"Well, she clearly didn't hide it from _Cal_."

"Can you please stop talking about me like I'm not standing two feet away from you?" Tessa murmurs. "It's a little unsettling."

"I think she's ready," Natasha says simply.

Clint pulls in a long, deep breath, clearly not convinced. "What about you two?" he asks, jutting his chin out at Wanda and Vision. "What say you?"

"Oh," Vision starts, moving to the center of the room. "I think that Dr. Sullivan is quite capable. And lest we forget, she did have a life of, well, if not espionage per se, at least subterfuge, for some time before coming here."

Tessa frowns. "Sometimes I forget that all of my files were downloaded into your brain."

"Yes, of course," he responds. "It can be easy to forget. But I assure you, I do know of your past achievements as an advocate and, well, for lack of a better word, superhero."

She raises her eyebrows. "See that? I'm a _superhero_."

Clint lets out a conceited _psh_. "You're a science nerd with a neat talent."

"I could end you," she only half teases.

"Maybe," he replies. "But could you do it without using your _talent_? Because if you end up using your powers with these guys, they're libel to lock you up and turn you into a mutant guinea pig."

"I _know_ ," she says in an exasperated tone. "I get it."

"If I may," Vision interrupts. "While I do feel that Dr. Sullivan could be successful on this mission, I'm not certain that I believe the mission itself will lead to much success."

"Why do you say that?" Steve asks.

"Because the desire to be better, to be more, is only going to continue to grow. Especially now, in the wake of Ultron. I do not think that stopping this individual will be likely to stop this program. Or if it does, I imagine another will simply take its place."

"Hail Hydra," Bucky smarts from the corner.

"He's right," Wanda says shyly. " _I_ knew better. But I still volunteered for Strucker's experiments. I sacrificed everything. And I'm not at all certain that I wouldn't do it again. To get what I wanted."

"Revenge?" Steve questions with a raised brow. "Don't you think that we should do what we can to keep people from enhancing themselves for reasons like that?"

"It wasn't just revenge," she defends. "It's like Vis said, I wanted to be something more. I wanted to be able to protect myself. And Pietro."

"And how did that work out?" She gives him a defeated look, a hint of anger bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm sorry, Wanda. I know you had your reasons. And maybe they were good reasons. But you did help set off what was almost the end of the world."

"And then I helped save it. Who's to say that someone else… someone who was enhanced… by this man or any other, wouldn't do the same?"

"And if that someone else, who may one day save the world, got his powers by torturing innocent people? By ripping the powers from someone else's body… would that be okay? Would that be worth it?" Tessa asks softly.

Wanda turns to her, an appalled look on her face. "No. No, of course not."

She rises from the couch and claps her hands together in a gesture of finality. "Then it sounds like we're all on the same page here."

000

When she walks out of the bathroom after showering, 30 minutes worth of steam billowing out behind her, she's honestly shocked to see Bucky in bed waiting for her. "You leave any hot water for the rest of New York?" he quips as she stills in the doorway.

She tosses the towel that she'd been using to dry her hair onto a chair in the corner and steps toward his side of the bed. "I thought you'd be out on the couch," she says solemnly, butting her knees up against the mattress.

He sits upright and leans over to her, wraps his arms around her middle. "You think I'm so pissed, I'd sleep on the couch?"

She shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time." It was rare, sure, but there had been a handful of times when Bucky abandoned the comfort of their bed – abandoned the comfort of _her_ – for the old, beat-up sofa. When their arguments got particularly heated, or when he had a nightmare and didn't trust himself to be around her, he'd grab his pillow and the throw from the end of the bed and venture out to the living room to feign sleep.

He looks her dead in the eye. "I'm not mad at you for wanting to do this. I understand."

"You just don't like it," she says, leaning closer to him.

He raises his eyebrows and lets out a small huff. "I fucking hate it." He drops his head to her middle, resting his temple near her hip. "But you and Steve… you're the most stubborn people I've ever met. And you're both hellbent on doing this."

She smiles as she delicately threads her fingers through his hair. "So you're gonna skip the fight that you know you'll lose," she says, a lilt to her voice.

"I never actually sleep when I'm on the couch anyway," he mumbles into her. "And I've got to be awake for the mission tomorrow." He shifts a bit and looks up at her. "I've got to have your back."

She smiles softly and nudges him back into the bed before climbing atop him, straddling his lap. His hands snake up beneath the back of her T-shirt and he smirks as she shivers from the cold of his metal fingers. "You've always got my back."

"I do," he agrees.

"Even when you really don't want to." He pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her fully, and he nestles into her bosom. She reaches her hand into his hair, tangling her fingers in once more. "I'm sorry to make you worry." He nods into her, but says nothing. She lays her head atop his. "I'm nervous too."

They sit like that for several long moments, holding each other. Him squeezing her so tight, holding her so close, that she honestly feels like the most precious thing in his world. And her, gripping his hair, keeping his head safely nestled right next to her heart, reassuring him that no matter what tomorrow may bring, for tonight, she's right here with him. "I love you," he mumbles as he kisses her collarbone.

"I love you too." She shifts on top of him. "But I'm getting a cramp in my hamstring." He relaxes his grip as he lets out a chuckle, and she slides off his lap and into the space next to him.

Turning towards her, he reaches down with his metal hand and pulls the comforter up over her. They both settle into the bed, her back pressed firmly up against his chest, his metal arm holding her close. "Better?" he asks, his breath hot on her ear.

She giggles from the sensation. "Yes." She snuggles further under the covers. "It's _freezing_ in here."

"Yeah, well, you were steaming up the whole apartment. I had to open a window." It was springtime, finally, and the warm weather had been a welcome treat. But out of the blue, the temperatures plummeted early this morning, leaving them all in an unexpected cold snap. The thought of that possibly portending something more sends a sudden shiver down her spine. "Hang on," he says, flinging the comforter off and striding across the room to close the window.

"Not all the way," she tells him, rolling to her opposite side to face him.

"Your hair's wet," he says with a furrowed brow. "You'll catch pneumonia." And he shuts the window, draws the curtains, and climbs back into bed.

"That's not really how pneumonia works," she gripes, settling onto his chest as he lays propped up on the pillows. She snuggles closer, dampening his T-shirt with her hair and gripping it tightly with her fingers. "The cold could make you more susceptible, but it's caused by either a virus or bacteria. Not wet hair." She continues to fist his shirt as she speaks, twisting her fingers up in the material and then straining to pull them back out. He reaches over and grabs her hand, gets it to release its hold on his clothes. "Sorry," she says simply as he intertwines his fingers with hers.

"Why do you do that?" he asks softly, kissing her fingertips. "Worry your hands like that?"

She shrugs. "Nervous habit, I guess."

"I keep waiting for the day you accidentally dislocate one of your fingers."

She anxiously shifts, pulling her hand from his grip and tucking it between her thighs. "Sorry," she repeats.

He wraps his metal arm around her and tugs her closer to his side. "What are you nervous about?" he asks, his voice somber. Again, she shrugs. "You worried about being alone with them?"

The plan for the facility visit was simple, but not without its perils. Tessa was to meet Lobe's driver in the morning and he would take her to the undisclosed location. Lobe made no excuses about the secrecy. There was a lot of money at stake here. He wasn't about to let just anyone know where his company's research was taking place. They were certain that he would be taking precautions, watching for anyone who might be following. So they wouldn't be able to stay in close proximity. But she'd have a tracker on her, and another to place in the car – along with a bug. And she'd have a virtually undetectable earpiece – technically still in the beta stage of development – so that she could remain on comms. _And_ Sam would have his new little toy following the car at a safe distance so that they could maintain some sort of visual.

Once they got to the location, all she had to do was surreptitiously plant some bugs – each about the size of the head of a pin – as they gave her a tour. Easy-peasy.

"You know we'll have your back," he says into her hair. "We'll be tracking you the whole time. No matter where they take you, we'll never be more than a couple of minutes away."

"I know," she says softly.

"Are you afraid of what you might find there?" he asks after a long, thoughtful moment. "What you might see?"

She slides her chin up along his ribcage and rests it on his chest so that she can look him in the eye. "What if they're close?" she asks. "What if they almost have it figured out?" She drops her gaze, looking past him. "What if we're too late?"

He raises his brows. "What if we're not? What if they're nowhere near having it figured out? What if everything goes according to plan, and we get enough intel to have them shut down before they even get started?"

"What if we do, but then someone else starts up with the same grand plans and they _do_ figure it all out?" she retorts, her voice rising in pitch at the end.

"You're spinning in circles, doll," he tells her with a crooked grin. "That's why we don't play the 'what if' game. Especially not the night before a mission."

She snuggles back into him with a frown. "I can't stop thinking about it," she mumbles. "I feel like this is… so important. And if I fuck up – "

"Hey," he stops her, twisting around beneath her to bring himself eye to eye. "You're not gonna fuck anything up."

"You don't know that," she says, a despondency to her voice. "You don't know how good I am at fucking things up."

He looks deep into her eyes, takes in the pain, the regret. He recognizes that look as one he's seen in the mirror a hundred times before. "Baby," he tells her, "I don't know what happened in your past… with your family… with the X-Men. I don't know if you did or didn't somehow fuck something up back then. But I'll tell you this, Stark was right earlier. Doing this won't change the past. And if you go into it thinking that it somehow could… thinking that you might be able to redeem yourself, or forgive yourself… Baby, that kind of unfocused thinking could easily compromise a mission."

She sighs dramatically. "Damn you and your super hearing," she mumbles. Tony had meant that piece of advice to be for her and her alone. He understood that no one else knew about what had happened all those years ago. And he understood that she wouldn't want to answer any questions about it now.

As if he could read her mind, Bucky says, "I'm not asking about what happened. That's not what you need to focus on. Tomorrow is about stopping some bad shit from happening in the future, not making up for some bad shit that happened in the past."

She twists her face into his side and grumbles incoherently.

"You need to get some sleep," he tells her, leaning away to flip off the bedside lamp. When he turns back, she wraps her arms tightly around him and pulls him close. He does the same, holding her once more like she's the most precious thing in his world.


	31. Mission Gone Wrong

Why the _fuck_ did he tell her it was okay to get into the trunk? It seemed like a stupid and extreme request from the get-go. They could have just blindfolded her. Or put her in a van or a car with blacked-out windows. Get in the _trunk_?

They should've recognized then that something was off.

And maybe Tessa did. She very obviously hesitated. They could see that from the video that Redwing had been taking. They could hear it in her voice when she let out a nervous laugh – _Are you serious? You want to drive around with me in the trunk like I'm some kind of stripper you're gonna bury in the woods?_

But Steve had told her simply, _It's okay, Tess. We've got eyes on you. Don't worry._

What a damn fool he'd been.

Cohoes Falls. That's where they had been headed. The bug that Tessa planted on the car was built with tech that also picked up cell and Bluetooth transmissions. The driver had punched in coordinates for an island along the Mohawk River, completely giving away the facility's location. Nat and Clint stayed on the car, tailing from a safe distance. Bucky and Steve hightailed it to Cohoes and set up on opposite sides of the small town that they'd be forced to drive through before reaching the island.

At first, they couldn't believe their luck. _Too easy_. But then they tapped into a phone call that came to the passenger's cell.

\- What's your ETA?

\- About ten minutes out.

\- And you haven't been followed.

\- Doesn't look like it.

\- _Have you been followed_?

\- No sir.

\- Do you have any idea how important this is?

\- She's something special?

\- She's more than just special. She's the Supernova.

\- I don't know what that means, sir.

\- You don't need to know.

In that instant, everything changed.

He made a call, the only call he could make. _Abort. Abort. Get her out of there!_

Only Natasha and Clint were too far back to stop the car, the small town roads not allowing them to speed and weave as they'd have to in order to close the distance. None of them knew what exactly lay on that island, of course. But they'd be fools to think that an outfit like this would choose a small, isolated island for their headquarters and not protect it, not arm it to the hilt.

 _Don't let them cross that bridge_ , he had issued out. _Buck, take whatever shot you can._

He was on a hill not far from the bridge – good visibility, sure… but only once they reached a certain point. He couldn't take out a sedan in the middle of a small town, not with residents taking Sunday morning strolls down the streets. So the only shot he had came as they approached the bridge. He took it – _Brace yourself, baby_ – and held his breath. But the driver somehow managed to keep the car moving despite the blown-out rear tire.

 _Take them out,_ Steve ordered.

So he took another shot, dropping the driver. But the car still maintained its trajectory. All the way to nearly the middle of the bridge. Then it simply careened off the side and into the murky river below.

At first, there was silence. _Tessa, do you copy? Tessa?!_

The impact was like that of driving into a concrete embankment. Her head had slammed – hard – against an interior wall. Everything was dark and… upside down and… wrong. But she could hear Steve over the comms, ordering her to respond. And she could hear Bucky's, _please, baby_. So she did what she could to pull herself together.

But… _I can't get out._ She pounded on the lid of the trunk, tried to kick out the backseat. _I can't…_ She clawed at the taillights where the water was steadily streaming in. Pushed – as hard as she could – on the trim and the paneling and anything in there that she thought might give way. _Steve… I can't get out._

She heard Clint say that they were coming for her. She heard Steve say to hold on. She didn't hear Bucky say anything at all.

 _I can't…_ The water was filling the trunk, her earpiece shorting out as she gasped and sputtered. _Help_ , she squeaked between ragged breaths. _Please_ , she cried in a voice so, so desperate.

 _Please…_

* * *

 **Yeah, it's short. Really short. But you'll forgive me. I hope.**


	32. I Don't Want to DieAgain

The whole thing just kept playing over and over and over again in his head. Every detail. Every wrong call. The far-off tailing. The lack of air support. Him telling her to comply with Lobe's driver and get into the trunk. Him telling Bucky to take the shot.

He didn't expect that the car would go into the river. It should've skidded to a stop long before that, should've veered off into the fields that lay between the town and the bridge. But it didn't. And he can't get the image of it careening off the bridge and slamming into the water below out of his head.

She didn't answer at first, but once she did, the relief was short-lived. Her voice was small and scared, unlike he'd ever heard it before. _I can't get out. Steve, I can't_ … trailing off as the water began shorting out her earpiece.

 _But we got her out_ … That's what he keeps telling himself, reminding himself. In response to all of the other terrible thoughts and images going through his mind… _We got her out_.

"Hey." He looks up from his twisted hands and sees Bucky standing before him, just as soaking wet as the rest of them, just as drawn and tired looking.

"How is she?" he asks with a start, standing up so fast that he almost knocks his friend over.

Bucky places a hand on his shoulder to steady him and he nods. "She's alright. I mean… they want to keep her overnight. And they're worried about her lungs… how the water affected them." He gives Steve a small, sad smile. "Natasha's with her. She told me to go get some air. You wanna come?"

Steve just nods and pats the man on the back as they head for the doors out of the emergency room. There are a few benches along the walkway that extends out to the main parking lot. They're along a quiet grassy corridor, surrounded by trees, and Steve can't help but think how almost cruel it is to offer such a lovely space for people who are undoubtably in the midst of one of the worst days of their lives.

Bucky doesn't seem to notice the flowering redbuds or the lush green grass, or even the crickets beginning to chirp as the sun sets to their left. He simply drops down onto a bench in an exhausted heap, his head falling into his hands.

Steve stares at him for a long moment before quietly taking a seat next to him. "Sam said he flew the Redwing over the island. Said he couldn't see a damn thing." He shrugs his shoulders. "Nat and I'll go out once it's dark and see what we can find, but…" He trails off, glancing over at Bucky once more. He hasn't moved an inch. "Never found the other guy," he mutters, referring to the passenger in the car.

"I don't really care," Bucky mumbles into his hands.

Steve pulls in a nervous, shaky breath. "The doctors…" he starts, then shakes his head. "She's okay, right?"

He sits upright finally, leans back and drops his hands as he takes a deep breath and squints against the setting sun. "Yeah," he breathes out. "Yeah, I think so. Her um… pulse ox? It's a measure of how much oxygen she's getting. It's low. But they said that's normal, considering. Somebody going without oxygen that long, they'd be most worried about brain damage. But she's with it and talking… And puking… guess she swallowed a lot of water too." He nods, definitively. "Yeah, I think she's okay."

"I broke her rib," Steve says softly, his eyes cast down as he remembers the sickening _pop_ , feels her chest cave under his hands.

"Two, actually."

He looks up and sees Bucky offer him another sad, conciliatory smile. " _Jesus_ ," he mutters, still wringing his hands. "Buck, I'm… I'm so sorry."

"For what? Doing CPR?" He snorts. "You saved her life."

"No," he says with a sigh. "Clint did."

It's true, Clint was the one who stepped in after Natasha's alarmed shout of _Steve!_ She too had heard Tessa's ribs crack beneath his hands. And Clint was there in an instant, calmly pushing him aside and taking over compressions, softly repeating, "You've got this. C'mon, Doc. You can do this," until murky river water poured from her mouth in violent gasps and chokes and heaves.

"You got her out of that car," Bucky tells him simply.

"I'm the reason she was in that car."

There's a slight sound of wood cracking and Steve looks down to find Bucky's metal hand too-tightly gripping the edge of the bench. "She was there because she was too damn stubborn to say no," he says, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He shakes his head solemnly. "We all fucked up."

"It was _my_ mission. I set it up. I called the shots. I was running point." Part of him hopes that Bucky will interrupt to tell him that he's not to blame. But the larger part knows that even if he did, it would just be one friend trying to comfort another. The truth is the truth. He's responsible for his men (and women) when they're in the field. It's that simple. And Sergeant Barnes would know that truth better than anyone. "The only man I ever lost in a op was you," he says after a long, quiet moment.

Bucky turns to look at him, but Steve doesn't – _can't_ – make eye contact. "You didn't lose me. Not forever. And we didn't lose Tessa either."

He leans back into the bench and stretches his hands out. His fingers are aching from mangling them for the last who knows how long… but it was all he could do to keep from feeling the metal of the car slipping under his fingertips as he fought to open the trunk, or the feel of Tessa's chest _not_ rising as he pulled her to the shore and began CPR. "If she didn't make it…" He stares off into the horizon, still unable to look at Bucky. "I would never forgive myself. _You'd_ never forgive me."

Bucky unclenches his fist from the bench and places an open palm gently on Steve's knee. "If she hadn't of made it, I wouldn't have made it either."

The words make Steve's heart still suddenly in his chest. Of course Bucky would feel that way. He knew how much he loved her. And he knew his friend well enough to know that he's not the kind of guy who would just get over losing her, maybe ever. But hearing him actually voice that truth still catches him off guard. Not because it's unexpected to hear or because it plants another unsettling _what if_ in Steve's mind. It's just because he honestly hadn't thought once about Bucky today. Not as they left the compound this morning mentally prepping for the mission. Not once things were underway and he was making the – in hindsight, _questionable_ – calls he'd made, including ordering Bucky to take out the car that Tessa was in. Not even when he saw Bucky's hands suddenly appear on the car underwater, gripping and bending and pulling along with his own to tear the trunk open. Not once had he thought about how hard all of this must be for him.

He was on the comms, he heard Tessa crying for help. Hell, the last thing she said, in a strangled, slurred cry before her device crackled into oblivion, was _Jamie_. But Steve was so caught up in his own failure and his own regret that he hadn't even thought about his friend's pain.

When he finally does look over at him, he sees tears filling Bucky's eyes. He's staring off at the sunset, so he doesn't notice the intense look his friend is giving him. The moment the tears start to spill over, he almost violently swipes them away before turning his head to look at Steve. "Bucky…" is all Steve can muster.

But it's enough. "Yeah," he says in response before hauling himself up off the bench. "I should get back in there."

The corner of Steve's mouth quirks up a bit as he hears the water in his friend's shoes squish. "You should change clothes," he says as he follows him back inside. "You'll catch pneumonia."

"You sound like your mom."

"Well, she wasn't wrong. I had pneumonia twice."

"Maybe you're the one who should change, then."

As soon as they approach the waiting room, Clint is on them with a report. "Sam's got your weapon," he tells Bucky – he, of course, had left the rifle behind as he ran headlong down the embankment to get to the river. "And Tony's talking to the local authorities now."

"He's on his way back?" Steve asks.

Clint nods. "And he is _pissed_."

Bucky pats the archer on the shoulder as he moves past him and ducks into Tessa's cubicle. "Can't say I blame him," he says, disappearing through the glass doors.

Steve stares at Tessa through the doors, frozen to his spot. She's curled in on herself, obviously in pain as she fights through a coughing fit. Natasha is rubbing her back soothingly, smiling lightly as she talks to her friend. When Bucky enters, Tessa straightens a bit, stifling the coughs, and reaches out for him.

"She's gonna be okay," Clint tells him. "They'll keep her overnight and first thing in the morning she'll be bitching out the staff so much, they'll kick her to the curb."

"There won't be any… lasting effects?" he asks, keeping his gaze on the people in the room in front of him.

Clint shrugs. "They're giving her a bunch of antibiotics. Actually, we all should get in on that." Steve finally turns to him and gives him a confused look. "That river was nasty. Those of us without super soldier immunity are probably gonna be shitting our brains out for a week."

The comment earns a small chuckle from Steve as he says, "Guess you guys should get some penicillin, then."

000

Natasha and Clint both go with Steve that night to check out the island. Bucky doesn't even think to offer to go out there with them. There's a part of him that wants nothing more than to find that facility and burn it to the ground… find Lobe and every miserable motherfucker who works for him, and put a bullet in each of their brains. No, actually, they're not worth the price of a bullet. He'd just tear them apart, one by one.

But as much as he'd like to live out that bitter fantasy, there's absolutely no possible way that he could leave Tessa's side. Not now. Not ever.

Sam showed up at the hospital just after sunset with a change of clothes for everyone. Dry tactical gear for Natasha, Clint, and Steve. Civilian clothes for Bucky and Tessa. So he must've guessed already that Bucky wasn't going anywhere. Or maybe Steve had made the decision for him. He didn't ask. He didn't care. He just took a ten minute break while the Falcon sat with his girl, making lame jokes about underwater treasure, and went and changed and grabbed a cheap coffee from a vending machine down the hall.

Aside from his chat with Steve earlier, that's the longest he's away from her the entire night.

"How are you feeling?" he asks her once everyone clears out, leaving just the two of them in the quiet little hospital room.

She looks down at her hand tightly folded up in his and frowns deeply, but says nothing. Instead she curls into a tighter ball, scoots nearer the edge of the bed where he sits.

"Still cold?" he asks, dropping her hand just long enough to pull the blanket up over her shoulders. He tucks it in around her neck and slowly moves his fingers up to sweep at her hair and tuck the loose waves behind her ear.

She looks up at him, an unreadable expression on her face. In a near-whisper, she says to him, "I died."

He keeps his eyes locked onto hers as he gives a small nod. "But you came back," he says, taking her hand in his once more. Her brow furrows. "You're gonna be fine," he tells her, leaning in and laying a kiss on her forehead. She nods, but the concerned frown remains. He moves his metal hand up to cup her face, and he begins tracing soft lines along her forehead with the pad of his thumb, as though trying to smooth out her wrinkled brow. She closes her eyes and nuzzles into the cool metal, craving it but also shivering against the cold.

When he feels her shiver, his thumb stills and he makes a move to pull his hand away. But she reaches up with her free hand and takes hold of his wrist, opens her eyes and stares him down as she says, "No."

So he continues sweeping along her brow. "What's wrong, baby?" he asks gently, as her frown grows deeper. She shakes her head a bit as if to say _nothing_ and turns her face to bury it into the pillow. "Are you in pain?" he asks, even though he knows that they just gave her some Demerol less than an hour ago. Again, she gives a slight shake of the head. He pulls in a deep breath. "Are you worried about… about the mission? About Lobe?"

She turns her face out just enough to be able to speak without the pillow swallowing her words. "He knows who I am."

Bucky raises his eyebrows and says, with a fierce determination, "He's never going to get you. I'll never let that happen."

She's silent for a long moment, just staring deeply into his steadfast eyes. "Supernova…" she starts slowly. "She was… very dangerous. He can't have her. Not ever."

He nods firmly. "Not ever."

She closes her eyes again and parts her lips to let out a small, pained cough. "I don't want to die again," she says, her face twisting as she reaches down and grips his right hand with both of hers, holding on so, so tight.

He gets up from the chair by her bed leans over her. "Scoot," he says simply. Without opening her eyes, without letting go of his hand or uncurling her body, she shifts back several inches. He climbs in bed beside her, taking care not to jostle her or to even pull the blanket down from around her shoulders. Slowly, he slides his metal arm beneath her neck and settles in around her. She releases his hand and instead grabs onto his shirt, fisting the material in her hands as she sidles closer and buries her face into his side.

He doesn't say anything to her as she holds onto him for dear life. He doesn't say that he'll never let anything like this happen to her ever again. He doesn't say that she won't ever _die_ again. No matter how much he want to. Because today, she _did_ die. Today, he twisted apart metal and pulled her lifeless body into his hands. Today, he stood, dripping wet on the shore of some murky river, staring ahead at nothing as his entire world, all that he's known, crumbled around him – just as it had years ago when he stood beside Steve after pulling him from that murky river in DC.

He won't lie to her. He loves her too much to do that. So instead he drapes his right arm around her, his hand splaying protectively over her lower back. And he presses her gently into him. He may not be able to keep her safe forever. But he can keep her close for now.

Eventually, he feels Tessa's breathing steady and deepen as she gives into sleep. But Bucky doesn't get any rest at all that night. Not even once Steve calls him to let him know that they're all out and safe. And the moment he hears that they found next to nothing on the island – the entire facility having been abandoned and the computer systems wiped clean – he's not sure if he'll ever really be able to sleep again.


	33. Off

It had been the same for the past several nights. He'd come back from a workout or a debrief or a training session and find her asleep on the couch, most often mumbling incoherently to herself, a thing he'd never known her to do. He'd make them dinner, gently wake her and watch as she barely picked at her food.

"Sorry," she'd say, catching his worried look. "I'm just not hungry."

He'd nod his head and say that he believed her when she suggested it was the pain meds and the antibiotics. Then he'd relay whatever new info they had on the case, which after the first few days was really nothing at all. And he'd tell her about something stupid Sam did while sparring, or mock Steve for not knowing what an emoji is, or roll his eyes while reciting the most recent talking-to they received from Tony. He'd keep talking while she absently pushed her food around her plate. He'd keep trying to connect with her as she stared off into the distance, just past him… at nothing.

Then he'd send her to bed and she'd fall asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow. Within an hour, the disjointed muttering would start up again, followed by tossing and turning. And then, not long after, she'd be fully ripped from rest by some sort of night terror. He'd hold her and rock her and wipe away her tears. And when it was all said and done, when she was fully awake and aware of her surroundings again, he'd ask her what had happened, what the dream was about. Each and every time, she'd say the same thing… she simply couldn't remember.

Was she drowning? Was she trapped? Was she reliving the whole… thing? _I don't know. Maybe. I don't remember._

The dreams started in the hospital, just hours after she was pulled from the trunk of that damn car and revived on a cold, muddy shore. The first time he simply shook her awake, explained that she seemed like she was having a nightmare, and coaxed her back to sleep. A few hours later, when she went from calm to thrashing in a matter of seconds, he wasn't able to rouse her until after the nurse arrived to check on her skyrocketing heartrate. He didn't ask her then what the dreams were about. It seemed obvious. And besides, she was far more upset about the pain in her ribs that the flailing had caused than what sorts of tricks her mind played as she slept.

But their first night home, the nightmares continued, waking them both three – or was it four – times throughout the night. "I'm sorry," she had told him then, still sounding out of breath. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," he'd replied, holding her close as her breathing calmed. And inevitably, she'd be out again in mere minutes.

Bucky had taken to sitting vigil for that first hour or so after they went to bed, reading by the low lamplight, waiting for her to murmur and stir. If he could wake her at that point, he figured, then she wouldn't have to live through the full nightmare, not that time at least.

Tonight, she fell asleep around nine. By the time he finished his book and looked at the clock, it was just past eleven. He flipped off the light, slid under the covers and thought to himself, reluctantly but hopefully none the less, _maybe tonight's the night. Maybe we're finally over the hump_.

When he hears the strangled cry just an hour or so later, he doesn't wake with a start, not like he did the first couple of times. Sad to say, but he's gotten used to this over the past few nights. Instead, he comes to slowly, rolling onto his side to find her in the dark. He blindly rubs her back to soothe her, hoping that may be enough to quell the whimpers. Sometimes it is. Not this time.

"Baby," he moans into the pillow as he twists to pull himself upright. He stops rubbing her back and instead takes hold of her shoulder. "Tessa," he tries, giving her a firm tug. She's facing away from him, curled into a tight ball, the comforter balled up in her fists. He scoots closer and pulls her to him, wrapping himself around her. "Baby, wake up." Out of habit, he begins to rock her, soothing her with the motion of his body even as his voice becomes louder, tone harsher and more demanding. "C'mon. You need to wake up."

He can tell the moment it happens, the whimpering ceasing, her body tensing suddenly before she lets go of the comforter and turns into him. She wraps her arms around his torso and mumbles, "Fuuuuck."

A small, crooked smile perks the corner of his mouth as he lays back down beside her. _Better than waking with a scream like last night_ , he thinks.

Her grip on him loosens, one arm now just hanging loosely over his side as they lay in bed facing each other. The moon is full and its light shines through the curtains enough to illuminate both of their faces. They stare into each other's exhausted eyes for a long moment. "You wanna talk about it?" he asks, same as he does every night.

She doesn't answer, just ducks her head into the crook of his neck, snuggling closer.

"Speaking as someone who's had more than his fair share of nightmares – "

"No," she interrupts, huffing into him.

He lets out a long, deep sigh. "It's been almost a week," he says. "This can't keep up."

She shifts back and turns away from him without a word, pulling the comforter back up to her chin. She's no longer pressed into his side, but he can still feel her shiver next to him. He rolls onto his back and waits, listens to her breathing settle and deepen. He waits for her to fall back asleep before he lets himself go to, hopeful that maybe they can make it through the rest of the night without another one. But the cycle starts over at 3 AM.

000

When Tessa wakes the next morning, it's to the bright, intense light of mid-morning sun streaming through the window, and two different voices mingling together in the next room. She rolls over and curls up tighter, tucking the comforter in around her to stave off the cold. _Why is it so damn cold in here?_ And she strains to hear.

"Tony said she hasn't been back to work yet." Steve… of course it would be Steve out there in her living room.

"She's been pretty tired lately," she hears Bucky explain. Her eyes clamp tightly shut and she lets out a small moan as the realization that they're talking about her hits.

"Yeah, I guess so. Sounds like she isn't getting much sleep." And of course Bucky would've told his best gal pal all about her nightmares. She snakes down further under the covers, only her closed eyes and perked ears poking out as she silently seethes. But then, "You look like you could really use some sleep too," Steve says. And just like that, her anger and embarrassment fade, and all she feels is guilt.

"I've gone longer with less." There's a long pause before Bucky comes back with, "I'm just worried about her."

She can almost _feel_ Steve's remorse when he says, "Yeah. Well… she's been through a lot."

"It's not just that, though. Or… I don't know, maybe it is. But she just seems… off." _Off?_ She blinks her eyes open and crinkles her brow. _What does that mean?_

"How do you mean?" Steve asks.

She hears Bucky let out a long sigh. "I've never seen her this exhausted. I've seen her go on practically no sleep for days… and somehow she just keeps going. Now?" She thinks about his words for a moment, and about how tired she feels, how heavy and useless her limbs seem, how foggy her brain has been. "And she keeps saying she's cold. Always cold. And shivering." She releases her grip on the comforter, suddenly realizing how tightly she has it pulled around her. "It's like… I don't know…"

"The doctors said she should be fine, right?"

"Yeah," he breathes out.

"You think it's got something to do with her… mutation?" Steve asks. "Like her energy got drained or something?"

"I dunno. Yeah. Maybe."

She quirks a single eyebrow – _yeah, maybe_ – and with a small groan, she reluctantly rolls out of bed. The comforter comes with her at first, wrapped over her shoulders. But then she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, sees how pathetic and tired and cold she looks, and immediately drops it to pool around her heavily socked feet. She grabs a sweatshirt of Bucky's off of the chair by the door, a thick hoodie that he sometimes wears on cold morning runs, and she pulls it on before heading into the other room.

"You two always talk about people when they're not around?" she asks, standing behind the couch, her arms folded across her chest. Steve's face turns a bright shade of red as he looks up at her and quickly looks away, ducking his head.

Bucky simply pivots on the couch to see her and smiles lightly. "Usually. Seems rude to talk about them when they're in the room with us."

She climbs over the arm of the couch and settles down into the cushions across from him. "So you'll stop now that I'm here?" She looks over at Steve, who's sitting in the old comfy chair by the window, still averting his eyes.

"Probably not," Bucky says, reaching out for her hand. "How'd you sleep?"

She shrugs. "It's late."

"Yeah, you got a solid four hours or so in," he intones. "You hungry?"

"No," she tells him as he rises and heads into the kitchen. "But I'd take some coffee." Once he disappears into the other room, she turns her attention back to Steve. "You're fine talking _about_ me, but not interested in talking _to_ me?" she asks.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking up shyly.

"Still feeling guilty, I presume," she teases with a sly grin.

He lets out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, well…"

"You haven't said more than two words to me since we got back," she tells him, suddenly feeling a bit meek herself. She drops her gaze to her lap where her hands, lost in the long sleeves of Bucky's black sweatshirt, slowly fist and twist.

"I know," he says solemnly. "I'm sorry." She nods without looking back up. "How are you?"

Bucky comes back in and drops a banana in her lap. She frowns at it and looks up only to see that he's also holding out a hot cup of coffee, which she eagerly accepts. She takes a small sip as he moves past her to sit back down. "I'm fine," she says finally.

Bucky gazes at her as he leans back into the sofa. "How much did you hear?" he asks simply.

"Oh, I'm tired and cold and I refuse to talk to you about these supposed nightmares," she quips.

" _Supposed_ nightmares?"

"I'm not lying when I say that I don't remember them. I really _do not_ remember."

Steve leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "What about… do you think maybe how you're feeling could have something to do with your abilities?"

She shrugs and takes another sip. "I guess it could. I've definitely been in situations before where my energy felt… drained. And I guess it would makes sense. After what happened." Both men nod thoughtfully. "Of course, I'm also on a decent amount of pains meds right now," she issues out with a raised brow.

"Well," Steve starts, forehead furrowed. "If it _was_ your… energy, what would we need to do? For you to get better, I mean."

Another shrug.

"Rest?" Bucky offers.

She sets down her mug and breaks open the banana. "Yeah, probably," she says before taking a bite. Then, with her mouth full of fruit, "But I gotta get to work."

"Tony said you could take more time. Whatever time you need," Steve supplies. "When I said before… did you hear me say…"

She swallows the banana and gives him an indiscernible look. "Yeah, I heard. But that's not why I'm saying it. I actually do have to work. I haven't checked in at the lab since… since the other morning, I guess." She glances over at Bucky. "Has it really been a week?"

He nods. "Almost."

She wrinkles her brow in thought. "What day is it?"

"Friday," he answers, a hint of concern to his voice.

"Shit," she breathes out, dropping the banana into her lap. Her eyes almost seem to glaze over as she sits, staring off into space.

"Tess?" Steve inquires hesitantly, breaking her from her reverie.

She jerks her attention to him. "What?"

He frowns deeply. "Maybe you should just wait 'til Monday. You know, take the weekend to… to regroup."

"Not a bad idea," Bucky says, reaching out and laying his palm on her knee. He gives a little squeeze and when she looks up she sees that he's giving her a tight smile… the kind of smile that she knows he means to be encouraging, but somehow always manages to look a bit defeated. "Couple more days couldn't hurt."

Her eyes go wide as she says, "With Max running things, a couple more days could mean a lot of hurt."

Bucky's expression drops. He sucks in a long, deep breath through his nose, his lips pressed tightly together. He looks away from her, out the window toward the small lake back near the woods. "Maybe you shouldn't have hired him back then. If you can't even count on him to deal with things for a week."

"Maybe not," she says, too tired to get into another argument about _fucking_ Max. "But I did. And he's there. And I should at least check in." She unfolds her legs from beneath her and prepares to get up, stilling at the last moment and looking over to Steve. "I take it there's still nothing on Lobe?" she asks him.

He shakes his head. "Nat and Clint are still combing through old contacts, seeing if they can find anyone who knows anything. But so far… nothing."

"And Cal?"

Bucky's head whips around and he gives her a startled look. Steve just shakes his head once more. "Long gone," he tells her.

"What?" she asks Bucky, feeling his incredulous glare bore into her.

"Why would you care about him?" he bites out.

"I was just asking if they found him or not," she says, a bit taken aback.

Steve leans forward again, and with a calmness that all others seem to lack, says, "It's possible Cal was the one who gave Lobe your true identity."

" _Possible_?" Bucky balks. "Who else would've done it?"

"That's not my…" Tessa mutters, trailing off. She falls silent for a long, awkward moment, eyes once again staring down at nothing.

"Not your what?" Steve asks finally. She looks up at him, her mouth hanging open as though preparing to speak. But no words come out. "Tessa?"

She cocks her head at him briefly. "I don't think he would do that," she says slowly, each word drawn out.

Bucky scoffs loudly. "You're not gonna convince me of that."

She turns to him, a lost and confused look on her face. "I should go," she says, rising from the couch. The banana falls from her lap and hits the floor without her noticing. And she leaves behind her coffee, instead continuing to fist and unclench her hands, still buried deep within her sleeves, as she meanders back to the bedroom to get dressed.

"See?" Bucky says softly once she's gone. He leans over and gingerly picks up the felled banana, looks back at Steve. " _Off_."

000

She dresses in layers, still freezing no matter what she does. Long, hot showers? Nothing. Two sweaters on top of a thermal? No help. Another hot mug of coffee between her hands, steam hitting her chin? Doesn't keep her from shivering.

But she tries to remain still as she stands off in the corner of the lab, listening as Claire fills her in on what she's missed over the last few days. "And here," her assistant says, handing her a tablet, "is your itinerary for the trip to U-Gen."

Tessa glances down at the tablet, but makes no move to take it, her hands still white-knuckling the mug. "When is that?" she asks, her voice sounding oddly far off.

Claire gives her a concerned look – "Two weeks." – before setting the tablet down on the desk behind her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Mmhmm," she issues out with a small smile.

She narrows her eyes at her. "You seem… distracted."

Tessa glances down at the tablet and reaches around Claire to pick it up, her left hand noticeably shaking as she does so. "Nope," she say, striving for nonchalance. "I'm fine." She slowly reads through the itinerary, her brow furrowing deeper the further she scrolls. "This says Tony's going with me."

"Oh, yes. Mr. Stark didn't tell you?" Without looking up, she shakes her head. "He said he had some business to attend to as well, some more paperwork or something."

"Uh huh," she mutters disbelievingly. "Probably wants to keep an eye on me."

"Well…" Claire lets out a light, uncomfortable laugh. "Um, Dr. Sullivan, you're spilling your coffee."

Tessa looks over at her right hand and sees the once-full mug tilted at an awkward angle, hot coffee gradually careening over the lip. "Shit." Instead of simply righting the mug, she flings it haphazardly backwards, so fast that she manages to throw most of the remaining coffee onto herself. "Shit! Fuck!" She hops backward as though she can escape the liquid already bleeding through her sweaters and searing her chest.

The tablet clatters to the floor and Claire lets out a shocked, "Oh!"

"Dammit!" Tessa reaches down for the tablet and as she does so, drops the mug, letting it shatter loudly on the tile.

Claire places a stilling hand on her shoulder, shoving her away from the mess as she picks up the tablet and flips it around to check for damage. "Just… let me," she says. "I'll get someone to clean this up." She takes hold of Tessa's upper arm and pulls her away, toward the door of the lab. "Here," she says, shoving the seemingly unbroken tablet into her still-shaking hands. "You take this and just… go to your office. Everything is covered here." Tessa gives her a skeptical look. "Really. We're all good here. You just… go," she says with a final small shove to get her boss out into the hall.

Reluctantly, Tessa heads down to her office, violently shaking out her hands as she goes. "What is wrong with you?" she howls at them. They continue to tremor the entire way. She drops the tablet onto a chair as she enters the office, slamming the door behind her. "What is wrong with you?!" she shouts angrily, pulling her hands up in front of her face.

All at once, the room starts to spin. Her eyes go wide as she stares at the hands in front of her. "What…" she hears herself say. But it's not her voice. The hands before her continue to tremble. She can _feel_ them shudder as she looks at them. But they aren't her hands.

Her heart begins to race and her breath catches in her chest. She drops one hand in search of the desk behind her, desperate to find something, _anything_ , to steady herself on. But she feels nothing.

Everything is spinning and twirling around her, light and colors dancing in her periphery like she's on some sort of psychedelic trip.

She shuts her eyes, pinning them tightly closed, as she whispers in a terrified voice that is not her own, "No, no, no, no, no…" At first, the light and colors continue to seep in. But after a moment, darkness takes over, leaving her in a void of black. "No, no, no," sounding tinny and far off. She feels her mouth form the word, over and over and over again as the sound drifts further away until she's left hearing nothing at all.

That's when the ground gives way, and she begins to fall.


	34. Dr Barnes

"Hey," he calls out as soon as he hears the door click open. "I'm in the kitchen."

She turns the corner and saunters in. "I see that," she says, casually leaning her hip against the counter.

He turns away from the stove to look at her and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. She looks… refreshed. Or relaxed. Or just… _better_. Her hands are still balled up in her sweater sleeves, and the dark circles under her eyes remain largely unchanged. But she looks like… Tessa. He notices a large dark stain on the front of her tan sweater and frowns a bit. "What happened there?"

She looks down, her face suddenly scrunching up in confusion. "I, uh… I spilled some coffee."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Ouch." And her face lightens as she releases a small chuckle. "You were gone a while," he says with a lilt. "Thought I'd have to have Friday hunt you down."

She smiles at him. "Oh, well, I know how you hate to communicate with the voice in the walls," she intones, moving over to him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I really do." He plants a lingering kiss on her crown, takes the time to breathe in the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo before giving her a quick, tight squeeze and turning back to the stove. "What did you do all day?"

"All day? I didn't even get down there until almost noon." She leans back and peers around him. "Are you making mashed potatoes?" she asks, positively beaming. "Real ones?"

" _Real ones_ ," he repeats with disdain. "I told you I wouldn't let you eat that fake flake crap ever again," he says, waving a giant wooden spoon in her direction. Then, turning back to the pot he'd been stirring, "Thought you might actually _eat_ this."

She sidles up behind him and lays her chin on his shoulder, loosely wraps her arms around him from behind. "I _might_."

The corners of his eyes crinkle as his face splits into a grin. His free hand falls to one of her wrists and he grips it lightly while stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "You gonna tell me about your day or what, doll? Everything good at the lab?"

"Mm hmm." She ducks her head and nuzzles into him, her words spilling onto his back when she says, "They had it under control."

"I told you so," he teases.

"I spent most of the day in my office, catching up."

"Yeah?" He flips off the stove, sets down the spoon, and slowly turns around in her arms, draping his own around her. She looks up at him with only _slightly_ tired eyes. But behind that hint of fatigue he can see the gleam that he's missed so much over the past few days. He gazes at her for a long moment before asking playfully, "You fell asleep on the couch, huh?"

"Weren't you the one who told me to relax?"

"Ah, yeah," he says with a small laugh. "But when was the last time you did anything I said?"

"Two weeks ago," she states, her voice dropping to a husky near-whisper as looks up at him beneath thick lashes. "You said to _come_ with you. And I did."

His eyes widen as he nods. "You did," he confirms, remembering back to that night. "Two weeks?" His brow furrows for a moment before he lets out a _tsk tsk_. "Too long." And he leans down to kiss her. It's meant to be an almost chaste kiss. A quick though loving, _I've missed you and I just want to feel you again_ kind of kiss. But she pulls him in and turns it into something so much more.

Her arms tighten around his middle and her hands drop further down his back. Her lips part from his just enough for her to let out a small moan into his open mouth as her fingers trace just beneath the waistband of his jeans. He bucks suddenly at the touch, pulling away with a laugh. "You're hands are freezing!"

She wrenches away from him and frowns as she holds up her hands for inspection. "Sorry," she mutters softly, staring at her fingers as she waves them slowly in front of her.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he tells her, gently taking hold of her hands and bringing them to his lips. He slowly huffs hot breath on them and tries to rub some warmth into her skin. He smiles as he does so, and searches for her eyes. But his countenance drops when she refuses to meet his gaze, instead continuing to stare perplexedly at the fingers he has wrapped up in his. "Hey," he says, giving her hands a firm squeeze. "You okay?"

She seems to snap to, taking in a sharp inhale as her eyes bounce up to his. "Yeah. Fine."

He frowns at her. "You kind of spaced out for minute there."

"Yeah, sorry." She leans in and drops her head to his shoulder. "Still tired, I guess."

She shivers next to him, so he brings her hands to his chest then lets go to pull the rest of her in. "And still cold?" he asks, folding himself around her. She curls into him and nods. "Well, we have homemade mashed potatoes and… _not_ homemade fish sticks to warm you up."

She barks out a laugh. "Fish sticks?!"

"Hey, it's what we had." He slowly unfurls himself and holds her out by the shoulders. His brow furrows as he takes a long, assessing look at her face. He's trying to gauge whether or not she actually is _fine_. Her skin has more color – more pink to her cheeks. And her eyes are less dull. But… "What's this?" he asks, tucking her hair back behind her ear. There, right at her temple, is a newly blossomed bruise.

"What?" Her hand rises to the spot he's investigating. She touches her head and winces as she hits the tender bruise.

He grabs her fingers and pulls them away before they can painfully prod any further. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she says absently. "Maybe I was thrown around inside the trunk of a car."

He raises a warning brow at her. _Not funny._ "That's fresh, not days old."

She spins away from him, eager to get away from the concerned glare. "I don't know," she repeats, pulling down a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe I hit it on the headboard or something."

He thinks for a moment. "Maybe. Sometimes you jump pretty hard when you wake up from a nightmare." He takes the plates from her and moves over to the stove. "Go sit," he orders, pointing to the table with his wooden spoon back in hand.

She lets out a petulant huff, but smiles contentedly as she moves across the room and curls her legs up beneath her in the dining chair. "About my day," she begins, eager to change the subject. "I got the itinerary for Seoul."

He raises a questioning brow at her as he approaches the table with full plates. "Okay," he says, mentally preparing himself.

"I leave in two weeks," she tells him, studying his face closely.

He exhales loudly as he takes a seat across from her. "Two weeks? That's… soon."

"Well, the deal's supposed to be done by June. That doesn't leave a lot of time."

"Still…" He looks up at her with a concerned scowl. "I don't know, baby. I think it's too soon. And with everything going on right now… We don't have a clue where Lobe is or what he's doing." She can feel his energy shift, the anxiety rising in line with the volume of his voice. "What if he's out there looking for you? And you want to go off to the other side of the world? Alone?"

"I won't be alone, though," she interjects quickly. "Tony's going too… apparently."

He deflates a bit, a small wave of relief – _very small_ – riding over him. "I still think – "

"I know what you think," she interrupts. "I _know_. But I'm not going to let Lobe or anyone else keep me from living my life."

He reaches across the table and takes her hand. "I'm not saying you should," he tells her tenderly. "I just think it's bad timing."

She shrugs and pulls her hand away. "It is what it is." She picks up her fork and begins swirling it in the steaming pile of mashed potatoes on her plate. "Besides, I think that letting myself get lost in work for a while could be good for me."

"So much for rest," he issues out sardonically.

"It's two weeks away. I'll have time to _rest_." He huffs out an obviously annoyed breath. "Work is good for me," she tells him, setting down her fork and staring deeply into his eyes. With as much sincerity as she can muster, she says, "It's always been good for me. It's how I focus, how I escape… how I reconnect. Really, babe… I think I need this."

He runs a tired hand over his face and lets out a long, resigned sigh. "Okay," he says simply. Then, picking up his own fork and raising it in a pointed gesture, " _If_ Stark can convince me that you'll be safe."

She laughs at the image being conjured in her head… the look on Tony's face when he's asked to _prove_ that he can act the part of bodyguard. She can almost here his inevitable retort of, _This suit could kick your ass to kingdom come, Tin Man. How dare you doubt me._

They sit in silence for several long moments as dinner commences. Tessa swallows a mouthful of mashed potatoes and he grins despite himself, so pleased that she's actually eating something. One more large bite and she stops momentarily to say, a thoughtful look on her face, "I was thinking… It might be a good idea to change my name again."

He raises a questioning brow. "Really?"

She shrugs. "Well… I don't really want to. And I certainly don't want to take on an entirely new identity and disappear or anything…"

"Good."

"But Lobe _does_ know my name. Which means others might too. And if they know… who I am… _what_ I am…"

"Sullivan isn't your real name?" he interrupts. "You said _again_."

"It was Summers when I got adopted. I never told you that?" He shakes his head. "I changed it after medical school."

"Why?"

She shrugs and pushes the potatoes around on her plate. "It's the name I chose for my career. This promotion… it's kind of like starting a new career. So maybe I should take a new name to go along with it."

"Why couldn't you have used the name Summers to… build your career?"

Expertly avoiding the question, she continues along her train of thought. "Not sure I should go with another S name, though. Maybe a T to go with Tessa, get some alliteration in there… Tessa Thompson?" She wrinkles her nose. "Wait, that sounds familiar. Is that someone?"

He shifts in his seat. "What about Tessa Barnes?" he offers nonchalantly before popping a fish stick into his mouth.

Silence. She looks up at him with wide eyes.

Bucky snorts out an indignant laugh. "Well, I like it anyway."

She shakes her head, a small smile perking the edges of her mouth. "Sometimes I forget how old fashioned you are."

"Plenty of women still change their names when they get married."

She drops her gaze back down to her plate, shoves a fish stick off into a corner. "We're not married."

"We could be," he says with a single cocked eyebrow. She side-eyes him and tries to hide a smile by indelicately shoveling more potatoes into her mouth. He laughs and waves his fork at her. "See? I knew I could get you to eat something."

There's a hint of melancholy to her voice as she says, "I don't know. I know it's dumb… it's just a name. But I've only ever been _Doctor_ Sullivan. It's who I am… who I made myself into."

"You brought it up."

"I know," she replies with a frown.

He leans across the table and lays his metal hand atop her forearm, thumb gently stroking along the knobby fabric of her thick sweater. "Baby, you don't have to change anything for me. And you sure as shit don't have to change anything because of this Lobe guy." She gives him a weak but grateful smile and he falls back into his seat. "But just so you know, our kids _will_ have my name," he announces with a wily wink.

Her eyes go wide once more. "You're just going for it tonight, huh?"

He shrugs and with a mouth full of fish stick says, "Why not?" She raises her eyebrows as if to say, _if you say so_ , and he swallows his food. "A few weeks ago, I would've been too scared to broach the subject," he tells her in a more serious tone.

The thoughtful, almost grave look on his face makes her frown with concern. "The _subject_?"

"The future," he says simply. "Our family."

She looks back up at him, notices the glint in his eye. "Our family?"

"You just gonna repeat everything I say?" he asks with a chuckle.

Her forehead wrinkles in thought as she asks, "But why would you be scared?"

He takes in a deep breath and raises his brows before diving in. "You don't always respond well to talks like this. Sometimes you just… shut down."

"I do not," she protests, utterly taken aback. He gives her a disbelieving glare. "I don't!"

"You absolutely do," he intones. "And I'm not saying I don't get it. I know your family life was…"

"Careful," she warns.

"It was different from mine. From most people's." He pauses, locking eyes with her briefly. "I _do_ get it."

Instead of arguing further, she simply rolls her eyes and asks, "But you're not _scared_ anymore?"

"Funny thing about watching the woman you love die," he says, turning his gaze down to his plate as he begins absently tracing patterns into his potatoes with his fork. "It kinda makes everything else seem… not so scary."

She sits and silently watches for a long moment, observes his slumped shoulders. Sees the way that just the mention of her… _dying_ … causes him to fold in on himself. He looks small. And sad. And tired. The only other time she remembers seeing him this way was just after he attacked her in his sleep. It was strange really, he'd looked so innocent then, even though all he felt was guilt, blame.

This is different, though. She can see that. She can _feel_ that. The same kind of dread is there, the same kind of sadness. But it isn't guilt that he's feeling now. It's… apprehension.

She nudges him with her foot under the table, runs it along his shin. "Do you honestly think I'd ever say no to you?" she asks as he looks up and locks onto her eyes. "Is that what you were scared of?"

He shrugs, takes a moment to reset his shoulders as he shifts to sit upright in his chair. "You'd change your name for me?" he asks with a playful lilt. "If I asked you to?"

She does her best to hide the smile trying to take over her face. "Not like I haven't done it before." Her foot gradually moves into his lap, caressing his thigh, and he reaches beneath the table to take hold of it, flips off her shoe and starts gently kneading through the thick sock with his metal thumb. "I don't even know what my real name is," she says distractedly, a bit startled when he suddenly stops the massage and looks up at her, dumbfounded.

"You don't know your real name?" She frowns deeply and slowly shakes her head, an odd feeling of shame washing over her. "Baby," he breathes out sadly.

She pulls her foot out of his lap and sits up straight. "It's fine," she says quickly. It's all she can think to say.

He nods. "Well…" And he leans across the table once more, taking her hand in his. "If you want it, you can make Barnes your _real_ name… keep it for life."

She smiles sadly and lets loose with a slight shiver, whispers almost to herself, "However long that might be."

000

They make love that night. It's passionate and intense and, above all else, _desperate_. It helps him to feel a little more assured that she's really here with him. Here beside him, in one living and breathing piece. And it helps her to feel something other than the aching cold that's been settling into her bones, deeper and deeper, all week.

Bucky stays awake after she drifts off. He leans back against the headboard and watches her sleep, seemingly peacefully. Her chest rises and falls with steady, even breaths. Her mouth parts just a bit, and he waits. But no odd, incoherent mumbles escape her. There's no tossing or turning. No catching or gasping or screaming out in her sleep.

Eventually, he lies down beside her and drifts off as well.

Hours and hours pass with nothing but sound sleep encasing them both. Until, at about four in the morning, she wakes with a start. Her hand flies to her chest as she pulls in a sharp breath, suddenly jerking upright. Her eyes are wide and wild, trying to focus on something – _anything_ – in the dark.

"You okay?" he asks, voice heady with sleep as he rolls over to face her.

She drops her left hand from her chest to his forearm as he makes a move to sit up. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"You sound out of breath," he mumbles, reaching out and running his hand along her thigh. "C'mere." He lays back down and motions for her to fall in beside him.

She looks down at him, at the space by his side where she belongs, the crook of his neck where her face fits so perfectly, the outstretched hand that she longs to feel trace along her spine. "No," she utters absently. "I'm… I'm going to get a drink of water first."

She feel his eyes on her as she scoots away from him and rolls out of bed. She pulls on the sweater that he had tugged off of her earlier, throwing into a heap on the floor. She closes the door most of the way when she steps into the bathroom – in part for privacy, and in part just to be polite and keep the light from blinding Bucky as he lays half asleep in their bed.

She turns on the faucet and reaches her hands beneath the water, hisses at the cold temperature, but splashes it onto her face none the less. She roughly drags her palms over her cheeks and stands up straight in front of the mirror. She stares for a moment, what feels like an eternal moment, as she takes in her reflection. It's the strangest thing. As she stands there looking at herself in the mirror, she has only one thought running through her mind in a loop. _Who the hell is that?_


	35. Somber Soju

"Would you stop?" he demands, clearly annoyed. "We've been here a week and you haven't even left the damn U-Gin grounds."

Tessa takes in a deep breath and turns to face him. "Tony," she starts, more than a hint of condescension to her voice. "We're here to work. Remember?" He rolls his eyes dramatically. "And I _have_ left the grounds. Our hotel is… blocks away!"

"Sometimes, I truly hate you," he says, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Does that mean that other times you truly love me?" she taunts, whipping past him to enter a code into some kind of machine.

He watches her flit around the lab, looking just as comfortable here as she does at home. Somehow, in only a few days' time, she's managed to get herself familiar enough with the U-Gin facilities and technology that Dr. Cho and Dr. Han let her loose in this lab on her own. He's impressed, though not surprised. But frankly, the amount of nonstop work she's been doing around here also has him a bit concerned.

Bucky had pulled him aside for a nice long chat before they left, laying out all of his worries, like a helicopter parent on the first day of school. "She's been sleeping better, but the nightmares… they're still there. And you might have to force her to eat. I don't mean just remind her, I mean _make_ her do it. Especially if she really throws herself into work. Which she will do."

"Yeah," Tony had told him flippantly. "I know her. I get it."

Bucky had given him a grave look then, shaking his head slowly. "Stark… I'm telling you, since the thing with Lobe –"

"Oh, you mean the thing that almost got her killed? The thing that I told all of you _not to do_? The thing that likely painted a nice shiny target on her back? Is that the _thing_ you're referring to?"

He saw the effort it took for Bucky to continue a civil conversation after that little snipe. But he still managed to go on and make his point clear. "Since then, she's been… struggling."

Tony had never liked Sergeant James Barnes, not since learning about him in school and hearing that he fought alongside Captain _freaking_ America, the bane of his young existence. He didn't like the way his father painted him in his stories – a bright tactician who helped lead influentially successful raids; a rakish young man who had – as his father put it – _almost as much pull with the ladies as me_ ; a courageous young man who made the ultimate sacrifice for his best friend and his country. He didn't like the fact that his father had respected him so much. He didn't like the fact that people called him a hero just for dying in the war. He certainly didn't like the fact that he'd spent 70 years acting as an assassin for Hydra. And he _hated_ the fact that he had been the one to win the heart of his most favorite little lab rat.

But the one thing he _did_ like about the man, the one thing that he actually could respect about him, was his dedication to the people he cared for – be that his Avengers teammates or, in this instance, Tessa. So though the look on his face may have been dismissive, and though his response may have been nothing more than a _psh_ , Tony did take it to heart when Bucky said him, "Just keep an eye on her. Please."

"Fine," he tells her as she moves back across the room towards the array of holographic micro-whatever-the-hell-she-called-them. "No clubs. Even though Seoul nightlife is amazing and you'd love it."

She flips off the holograms, shutting the machine down. "I do love to dance."

"I know you do," he says with wide eyes. "I've seen it. It was terrifying."

She turns on him, eyes alight with astonishment. "First of all, I am an excellent dancer," she says holding up a single finger. Adding another finger to the mix, she states, "And secondly, Bruce picked the music. Not me."

Tony closes his eyes, shakes his head, and tries not to laugh at the memory of Tessa and Bruce dancing around the lab to _Disco Queen_ at two in the morning. It seemed like so long ago, back when they were still in the tower. Back when they still had to share equipment, and they all – Tony included – would get together to brainstorm and spitball new ideas, new innovations. Now Bruce was often gone on humanitarian missions, trying to somehow put right what the big guy did wrong. Tony was working harder to build up the Avengers than to innovate at Stark Industries. And Tessa had grown into a scientist capable enough to run an entire division on her own, rarely asking for his help or advice.

"Let's just go to dinner," he says, looking up and offering her an encouraging smile. "Please?"

"Fine," she relents. "But we have an early meeting, so no getting me drunk."

"When have I, or anyone else for that matter, ever _gotten_ you drunk?" He snorts derisively at her. "You do that all on your own, ya lush."

She frowns at him. "Then cut me off before I get _myself_ drunk," she says, shutting down the rest of the lab before heading out.

In fairness to Tony, he never actually agreed to cut her off. And he's a huge proponent of using either alcohol or sex to distract oneself from the woes of life – sometimes both. Sure, he too tends to throw himself into his work when life outside of the lab becomes too much. It's probably the thing that he and Tessa most have in common. Well, that and being genuinely brilliant (though he's pretty sure she actually has to work at that). But it's exactly because he shares that proclivity for diving headfirst into work that he's able to see how close she is right now to stepping over that line that separates healthy distraction from borderline burnout.

So he feels no guilt at all when he buys another round of soju, this time asking the waiter to just leave the bottle.

"This shit is good," she says with a small laugh.

"And strong," he seconds, clinking his glass into hers.

She takes a sip and gives him a glassy eyed glare. "We're going to look very bad in that meeting tomorrow. Our new partners will be _very_ disappointed in us."

He scoffs. "Nah. I canceled that meeting. Perk of being one of the richest, most powerful men in the world… it's totally believable any time you say the words, _a matter of extreme importance has come up."_

She laughs again, a bit louder this time, but it fades quickly as her gaze drops down to the table in front of them. She frowns suddenly and shakes her head a bit as if responding _no_ to some unasked question. Her brow furrows and he sees the fingers on her right hand loosen their grip on her glass and move over to wind themselves tightly in with those on her left.

He sighs as she begins to clench her hands together, a deep scowl overtaking her face. "What's up, buttercup?" he asks, leaning across the table to peel her hands apart.

She jumps at his touch and yanks her hands back, startled eyes flying up to meet his. "What?"

He leans back again, drink in hand as he raises an inquisitive brow. "Where'd you go just then?"

"What?" she repeats, genuinely confused.

He sets down his glass and sits upright, leveling her with an assessing stare. "You know, you've been doing that a lot lately. Zoning out. Helen even mentioned it the other day."

Her mouth gapes open, eager to deny or defend. But there's really nothing she can say. So she closes her lips and pinches them into a tight, firm line.

"So," he intones, "I'll ask you again… What's up, buttercup?"

Her eyes dance around the room, taking in the half-empty restaurant. There's a couple in the corner quietly holding hands, two large tables full of drunken businessmen loudly talking over one another in Korean. She sees a woman sitting alone along the far wall, her back to them. It looks like she's reading a book while she silently drinks her tea. "I don't know," she says slowly, still studying the woman, gazing at the back of her head.

Tony sips at the soju. "Post-traumatic stress," he issues out with forced casualness. Her eyes slowly drift back to him, a questioning look on her face. "That's what they told me, anyway. After the battle in New York." He shrugs. "Could be, I guess. Maybe. I don't really care for labels."

"You died then," she says softly, a statement, not a question.

He raises his brows. "Sort of. Yeah." He leans over and picks up the bottle, pours about two more fingers for each of them. "I don't really know what happened. But it fucked me up, I can tell you that." He looks down at the drink in his hand, thinks better of downing it all at once. Setting the glass off to the side, he leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. "I couldn't sleep. I had… nightmares. I threw myself into my work." He looks her dead in the eye. "Any of this sounding familiar?"

The corner of her mouth perks up into a crooked smile. "Yeah, I know. I get it."

"Look kid, I know you're tough. I know you've been through… a lot already. But…" He throws his hands into the air. "We don't get to choose what fucks us up. One near-death experience might be nothing more than a fascinating dinner party story. Another might turn us into workaholic zombies. _God_ ," he says, shaking his head vehemently, "I hate that word. What the hell is _workahol_ anyway?"

She gives him an earnest look. "What kind of dinner parties are you going to?"

He blinks tiredly and rubs his eyes. "You know what I mean," he groans out.

She nods and gulps down the entirety of the drink in front of her, offers no reaction to the stunned look he gives her. "I'm not sure it's that simple," she tells him, reaching for the bottle.

He grabs the soju with one hand and actually slaps her hand away with the other. "No," he says, pointing a demanding finger at her. She frowns, but gives in easily, falling back into her chair. He too leans back, still glaring at her cautiously. "What do you mean _it's not that simple_?"

"I don't know," she says with a shrug. Then, locking eyes with him, "Did you feel cold?"

Tony wrinkles his brow. "Cold?"

She nods slowly. "I am so, _so_ cold. It's like it's… it's in my bones." She shakes her head absently and turns her eyes back to the woman across the room. "I tried to take a bath the other day to… I don't know… thaw out. And I freaked out a little. But I think that's normal. Being surrounded by water…" She lets out a small chuckle. "I even ducked my head under. To _challenge the fear_." Another shrug. "But I understand that fear. I get it, I do. And sometimes I feel… scared, I guess. And I just need to… hold onto something. Do you know what I mean?" she asks, looking back to him.

"Yeah," he says solemnly. "I do."

"When I was there… in that car…" her eyes close as she pulls in a deep breath. "I was so scared. Because I knew… I _knew_ I was going to die. The water was _so_ cold. And I… I…"

Tony reaches across the table and takes her hand, offers a gentle squeeze. "You made it out," he tells her. "I know what it's like… to think about it and feel like you're still there, like you're still in it. But you just have to keep reminding yourself that _you made it out_."

She smiles over at him, a small but genuine smile. "Yeah…" But then her eyes turn hard and a deep, sad frown takes over. "But then why am I still so cold?"

Tony looks down at his own hand, still laying atop hers. He notices the way his fingers are gently squeezing and rubbing hers, unconsciously working to warm what he only just now realizes is an icy cold touch. He pulls away suddenly, his stomach dropping as he grasps just how _dead_ her hand feels.

If Tessa notices his recoil, she doesn't show it. Instead her gaze shifts back to the woman across the room, her long dark hair draping over her shoulders, the delicate way she brings up her tea cup with her left hand. _Is she left handed?_ she finds herself wondering. "Sometimes I feel like…" she starts, sounding terribly far-off, "like I'm not myself." She looks back over at him for a brief moment. "Did you feel that way?" she asks him, a sort of longing in her voice.

He nods slowly, hesitantly. "Yeah, kid. I did." He lets out a long sigh before rising from the table with a bit of a sway. "C'mon," he says, moving over to her and clasping her shoulder. "Let's get you back to the hotel before you pass out. I'm not carrying your drunk ass."

She pushes back her chair and allows him to help her stand, shaky legs only letting her get so far on her own. "Too weak without your suit?"

"Maybe you're just too heavy," he replies, sweeping an arm around her back.

She pulls away just a fraction and glares at him. "Did you just call me fat?"

000

Tony backs out of her room as soon as she flops onto the bed, content that she's _most likely_ not going to fall and break her neck or roll over and choke on her own vomit. "Trashcan's by the bed," he says by way of _goodnight_.

The minute the door clicks shut behind him, she pulls out her cell and presses _Sergeant Bad Ass_ , giggles to herself as she clunkily raises the phone to her ear.

"Tessa?" he answers after the first ring, concern sounding in her name.

"Did I wake you?" she asks, the words coming out slightly garbled.

There's a brief pause before he says, "It's four in the afternoon here." Then, a hint of levity shining through, "Are you drunk dialing me?"

She snorts loudly. "How do you even know what that is? You're from… from… last century."

"Should I ask what you did tonight?"

She closes her eyes and falls back, deeper into the fluffy pillows. "Just dinner. And… soju," she says, dragging the syllable out for an eternity. _So-juuuuuuuuuuuu._ He laughs lightly and she smiles to herself. "I just wanted to hear that," she whispers, biting her lip.

"What, me laughing at you?" he says with another short chuckle.

The smile slips from her face and she feels tears start to burn behind her eyes. "I miss you," she ekes out.

His voice is tender, soft, when he replies, "I miss you too."

"I know I've been really… weird lately," she says with a sniffle. "I know you're worried about me. I hate that."

"Baby," he breathes out. "You sound pretty tired. Maybe you should get some sleep and call me in the morning."

She shakes her head and clamps her eyes tightly shut to stave off the tears. "No, I… I…"

"Tessa," he hums simply.

"I just want to tell you… I'm sorry. And I'll be better. And… and… I love you."

She hears him let out a long, deep sigh. "God, I wish I could touch you right now," he mutters longingly. "Just hold you."

She smiles wide, the tears finally beginning to squeeze their way out and trail down the sides of her face. "I love you," she repeats, the words coming out only slightly slurred.

"Get some sleep, baby," he says. "Call me in the morning… after you finish puking your guts out." There's a soft chuckle followed by a wistful, "I love you too."

The call ends the same way they all do, with neither one ever saying the word _goodbye_.


	36. You Don't Get to Know

The sparring session lasts just over two hours, Clint and Natasha refusing to let Sam and Bucky leave until they tire out enough to do something stupid that the more experienced Avengers can hold over their heads. But let's be honest, Bucky doesn't really tire out. And while some of his technique may be getting a bit rusty as his Hydra programming gets buried deeper down in his subconscious, he's not one to make mistakes in a fight.

So it's really poor Sam who gets pushed to his limit. "You guys do realize I'm just a… a _human being_ , right?" he says, collapsing onto the mat in an prone heap of flesh and sweat.

"So are we," Clint tells him as he looms above, dropping a towel onto his chest.

Natasha takes a seat on the mat beside him, delicately folding her legs up beneath her. She doesn't sound out of breath at all when she declares, "If you want to go in the field with us, you've gotta be able to keep up with us."

"Leave him alone," Bucky mutters from behind. "He's doing fine."

All three of them turn to stare wide-eyed at the sweaty super soldier.

"Did you just defend him?" Clint asks with a smirk.

"I'm just saying, he _can_ keep up. You two just won't admit defeat."

"Oh my God," Sam drawls out, rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up off the mat. He lumbers over to Bucky and practically falls into him, wrapping his arms around him in a giant bear hug. "Did we just become best friends?"

Bucky stiffens and rolls his eyes before shaking him off and giving him enough of a shove to cause the man to stumble back into Natasha.

"I think Tessa being away is rotting your brain," she says. " _This_ is an alarming development."

"Well, she should be back on Sunday, right?" Clint asks. Bucky nods. He turns to Sam. "Better get your hugs in while you can."

Sam throws his arms out wide and grins cheekily. "C'mon, big guy," he says to Bucky, waggling his fingers at him. "You know you want some of this chocolate thunder."

"Oh God," Natasha yelps, averting her eyes as she leaps to her feet. "Too far."

Bucky glares daggers at the Falcon. "Don't touch me again," he says simply.

Sam just laughs and reaches down to pick up his towel. "I gotta tell ya, man," he starts, the chuckles gradually dispersing. "I'm surprised you let her go. I mean… after what happened… I figured it'd be months before you let Tess leave your sight. Or years. Or, you know… forever."

Bucky lets out a long, deflating sigh. "I don't know what makes you think I have any control over her. I've never _let_ Tessa do anything."

"Of course not," Natasha scoffs, dabbing at the sweat on her brow. "You don't get to _control_ people." Bucky raises a single brow, giving her a _really?_ look. "Mind control aside," she obliges. "You don't get to control the people you love."

"Oh, but if I could," Clint offers wistfully.

"If you ever wanted to have any control over your wife, you married the wrong woman," she tells him.

He throws out a quick _psh_. "Not Laura. If anything, she should have more say over what _I_ do. But those kids… man I wish I had just a little more control over those emotional terrorists."

Sam laughs heartily. " _Emotional terrorists_? What'd they do?"

He shakes his head. "I'd been gone for three weeks… _three weeks_. I come home and the baby's either ignoring me or crying in my face, Lila says she'd rather spend the weekend at her friend's sleepover, and then the oldest boy beat me in a game of one on one. And _laughed_ about it."

"Which is why we shall not speak his name," Nat interjects.

Clint just nods.

"Well," Sam starts, pleasant smile, but serious look on his face. "You can't really expect them to drop everything for you. I mean, when you're home, your life might revolve around them. But for them, you coming and going, that's just their everyday."

"Jesus," he intones. "You sound like my wife."

"Aw," Natasha says. "You finally found a work wife. Congratulations."

"Very funny."

Bucky turns to the group with a frown, looks directly at Clint when he says, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The wife, the kids, the… home? And this?" he asks, gesturing at the sprawling, high-tech Avengers gym around them.

"Planning for the future?" Sam asks with a chuckle.

Bucky rolls his eyes without sparing the man so much as a glance. "I'm just curious."

"Cap still harassing you about living in sin?" Clint asks, a playful lilt to his voice. "Telling you to lock that down?"

"You know, for being a 100-year-old man, he really is quite the busy body yenta," Natasha complains. Then, tossing a meaningful glance at Bucky, "But he also isn't wrong. You obviously _want_ to marry her."

Sam's tone is serious, the same one he uses in group therapy sessions, when he offers, "Not that any of us really needed a reminder, but I think we all just got one about how short and fragile life can be."

Bucky slumps onto a bench. "I don't know," he says absently, scrubbing at his face with his palms. "I don't know how to do it."

Nat wrinkles her brow. "Propose? That's easy. Drop a ring in a beaker or a petri dish… the science nerd in her will love it."

He looks up at her with a confused sort of grimace. "No, not propose… _live_. Be married. Have a family. Be… normal." He drops his gaze down to his shoes. "Be happy."

"You think you might be overthinking things a bit?" she asks him with a coy wink.

He shakes his head absently. "It's just… I always thought it'd be easy. I'd find a nice girl, settle down, maybe buy a place outside the city. We'd have a couple kids. Eventually retire and die."

"Romantic," she mutters snidely.

"Then you went to war, got captured, got _superpowers_ , and became Hydra's bitch… and all bets are off, right?" Clint asks.

Bucky nods. "Yeah, something like that." He lets his head fall back dramatically as he lets out another pained sigh. "I just don't know."

"Okay," Clint says, clapping his hands together and heading for the bench. He drops down beside Bucky and gives him a quick, sharp pat on the shoulder. "Real talk. Doesn't matter who you are or _what_ you are. Doesn't matter what kind of weird, fucked up past you've had, or what kind of _job_ you've got. None of that matters. When it comes to love and marriage and making a family…" he shakes his head slowly. "It's the same for everybody, Sarge. You don't get to _know_."

Bucky looks up at him and gives him an _are you crazy?_ look. "Not helpful," he utters softly.

Clint just chuckles. "I didn't want a farm house in the middle of nowhere. I never thought I'd have kids, never thought I'd ever even want them. And honestly, when I first met Laura… no, no way in hell was I the kind of guy who was going to settle down and get married. Not me. Not ever."

"Ah," Sam offers with a smug smile. "Ain't no woman gonna tame that wild animal, huh? Let the hawk fly free!" Everyone in the room gives him a disappointed look, accented with either a sad head shake or a deep roll of the eyes.

Clint simply leans back and lets out a long sigh. " _But_ ," he goes on, "I knew I wanted her. _That's_ what you get to know. I knew that I wanted to be with Laura forever. And if that meant putting on a monkey suit and saying _I do_ in front of her crazy family… fine. If it meant having dual identities and becoming an amateur farmer on the weekends… fine. If it meant buying a house and a damn minivan…" He turns bodily to face Bucky. "Kids? Let me tell you something, Sarge. No one _knows_ what they're getting themselves into with kids. No one _knows_ how they're gonna manage that train wreck. But if you get lucky enough to ever hold your very own baby in your arms… that first time…" he shakes his head thoughtfully. "That feeling… _that's_ knowing." He gets up with a slight groan. "'Course someday that kid'll kick your ass at basketball and call you old, and you'll go right back to not knowing a damn thing – how'd I end up here? Am I doing the right thing? Am I providing enough for them? Loving them enough? Are they happy? Am I happy? Am I missing out on something… on everything?" He takes in a deep breath, grabs his water bottle, and turns to head for the door. "Yeah. You don't get to know. You just gotta take your chances." He throws a little wink Bucky's way. "But I've never regretted the chance I took, I'll tell you that much."

"Well," Natasha says as the door shuts behind Barton. "That was enlightening." She looks over at Bucky, who's still sitting on the bench, his face screwed up in confusion. "You want to go shop for a ring, or you want me to help you pack a getaway bag?"

He pulls in a sharp breath and buries his head in his hands.

"What?" she asks.

He looks up at her, running his fingers dramatically down his face. "Hydra," he breathes out. "I've got this… monster in my closet…"

"And the monster is you," she drones.

Sam steps up, his face serious when he says, "No, no, no." They both give him a confused look, as though they'd forgotten he was still there. "You can't think that way, man," he tells Bucky, utter sincerity lacing his words.

"You don't get it. You don't understand what it's like to… to…"

"To have been a monster," Natasha finishes for him. Bucky simply widens his eyes and waves a hand in her direction as if to say, _yes…that_.

Sam lets out a soft sigh. "Would you stop with that word?"

"Monster?" she asks innocently. He gives her a chiding glare. "It's true, Sam. He was a ruthless assassin who mindlessly killed dozens of people."

"Hundreds," he corrects.

Sam scoffs. "Because he was manipulated into doing it. He was brainwashed!"

"Doesn't change the fact that he did it."

"Would you stop?" he almost pleads with her.

"I can say those things because I've been in the same spot… or close to it. I know what it's like to try and turn your life around, change all the bad to… less bad. I know what it's like to work so damn hard to be who you want to be, and to have this… weight of who you once were holding you down." She gives him a sad, knowing look. "And Barnes is right… you don't get that."

Sam exhales loudly and takes a seat on the bench next to Bucky. "I'm not saying you don't have a past… either of you," he says, glancing up at Natasha. "But I deal with vets all the time who have killed and –"

"And that was war," he interrupts. "I know war. That's not what this is."

Sam shakes his head. "Isn't it? Only difference I see is that you've been at war longer than most men have been alive."

"We're not exactly your typical soldier, Sam," Natasha tells him sharply.

He looks up at her and shrugs. "Everyone has different experiences. I've been at the VA long enough to know that much. Some soldiers _like_ to kill. It's not just a shitty part of the job that they have to do. They enjoy it. They get a thrill out of it… a rush." He raises a single brow in her direction. "That's really the problem for you, right? You liked what you did a little too much?" She scowls and immediately looks away. "Then you get out of it for a bit and you see how messed up it all was." He rises and stands in front of her. "Thing is… it's not really as messed up as you think."

"You sure about that?" Bucky asks, one terribly skeptical eyebrow raised.

"I'm just saying… so many of us struggle with feeling like we're not right… not _normal_. We blame ourselves for enjoying things we think we shouldn't," he says, looking at Natasha. Then, turning back to Bucky, "Or we refuse to let go of guilt because we think if we do, we're saying that what we did was okay."

"Damn," Nat breathes out. "You are good."

He smiles and lets out a light chuckle. "Point is… there is no _right_. There is no _normal_. So don't get hung up on _how_ you see yourself. You might not be a _normal_ guy. But no one really is."

"Well," Natasha adds. "He's definitely not. But neither is Tessa." She turns to face Bucky. "You're 100 years old. Tessa's a mutant. You can run fast, heal fast, and, frankly, kill fast. And she can –"

"Deflect bullets," Sam finishes. "I've seen it. It was _fucked up_."

" _And_ other things," Natasha continues with an irritated shake of the head.

"It's not just that," he counters, a hint of sadness to his voice. "Normal, not normal. Monster or not… No matter how I _see_ myself, I'm always going to have Hydra in my head." He pulls in a deep breath. "And maybe in my life." His hands fly up in surrender. "They're still out there. And at some point, they will come back. For me."

"And at some point, this Lobe guy probably will come back for Tess," Sam says, causing Bucky's eyes to jerk up and toss him a vicious glare. He just shrugs. "It's true."

"We all have targets on our backs," Natasha adds. "Part of the job. The life we lead."

Sam chimes in again with, "I know that Bucky Barnes, the kid from Brooklyn who ended up on the western front, probably wanted nothing more than a nice, normal life. Right?" He doesn't respond, just stares ahead blankly. "Thing is… you're not that kid anymore. You can't live your life based on what _he_ would've wanted. He's gone, man. You gotta ask yourself what _you_ want."

"Damn it," Natasha ekes out. "He's like Confucius."

Bucky rises from the bench with a sigh. "I think I've had enough advice for one day," he says as he trudges out of the gym.

Once they're alone, Natasha turns to Sam thoughtfully. "That was good. It was." She smiles at him, sweet and sultry. "But if you ever try to psychoanalyze me again, I'll tear your arm out of the socket and make it look like it was your own fault."

He gives her a wide smile of his own. "I am feeling _so much love_ in here tonight. So much love!"


	37. Waking Nightmare

It had been nearly three weeks. Three weeks of getting to know the scientists at U-Gin. Three weeks of studying the equipment and facilities. Three weeks of meeting with doctors and engineers and architects to plan out _every detail_ of the future research facility in Seattle.

 _That_ was the worst part.

As much as Tessa lamented working with others – she was always better doing things on her own, going at her own pace – she had found enough brilliant, like-minded people at U-Gin that the _getting to know you_ part actually turned out to be pretty great. And the fast-paced tutorials and in-depth analysis of the equipment and experiments currently under way… well that's the kind of shit that she lived for. Especially since it gave her an excuse for working such excruciatingly long hours – _I'm only here for another week, I need to learn as much as I can._

But planning the new development? Sitting in meetings for _hours_ on end and talking about how large a room should be or what kind of safety equipment would be needed where and why and what they could or couldn't get away with in terms of liability… _God_ , it was a nightmare.

"I'm starting to think Tony gave me this job just so I'd have to deal with all of this shit instead of him," she laments to a snickering Helen Cho as the two take a much needed break.

"Oh I imagine that's exactly why he did it," she tells her with a wide grin.

Tessa finishes the last of her coffee and grimaces. How Koreans can think that instant coffee _is_ coffee is beyond her. "I just want to be done with all of this. Have everything set up and ready to go so we can start actually _working_."

Helen laughs again, light and airy. "You're one of the only people I know who says that word like it holds the promise of sex. _Working_ ," she mocks, drawing out the word in an exaggerated moan.

She frowns dramatically. "Thanks for reminding me. Not only do I not get to _work_ today. I get no sex either. My life sucks."

"Hey," Helen starts after her giggles fade. "Can I ask you something?"

Tessa perks up a bit, looking curiously at the woman across from her. "Sure."

Helen stares down at her tea as she slowly drags the spoon back and forth along the interior of the mug. "I heard… I mean, Mr. Stark mentioned… that you did some work at the Mutant Research Center on Muir Island." She glances up shyly. "Is that true?"

"Yeah," she says with a forced casualness. "Yeah, I did. A long time ago." She sits up straight, her shoulders tensing and stiffening.

"What did you do there?" Helen asks in a conspiratorial whisper. "I mean… can you say?"

Tessa opens her mouth slightly and pulls in a long breath, thinks about just how to answer that. The facility on Muir Island is a private one. Beyond being privately owned, it was built amid nearly inaccessible islands off the coast of Scotland. Everything about the place is meant to remain… _private_. "I… uh…" she sputters.

Helen waves a dismissive hand. "No, no. I understand. I imagine a place like that makes you sign all sorts of NDAs." She looks up at her with a dreamy sort of countenance. "I just bet it's just so fascinating there. I mean… being able to study actual mutant genotypes? We've only ever been given access to four. And the X-gene is so complex…" She lets out a small laugh. "Well, you know that, I suppose."

For a brief moment, Tessa's heart stops. She plays back all of her time with Dr. Cho, back to just before Ultron. Did she ever use her powers in front of her? Had someone mentioned that she's a mutant? Had she herself let it slip? "What do you mean?" she asks in a shaky voice.

Helen gives her an odd look, one filled with both confusion and intrigue. "Well, you just said that you were at Muir Island…"

A breath of relief. "Oh, yeah." She shakes her head absently. "No… sorry." She reaches over for another packet of instant coffee. "I'm not totally with it right now, I guess."

"I can't imagine that more of that will help," Helen offers, nodding down at the coffee. "Too much more and your heart will explode in your chest."

She scoffs – "This is _barely_ even coffee." – and gets up to fill her mug with more scalding water from the spigot in the corner of the cafeteria. When she returns, she notices that Helen seems to be assessing her with concern in her eyes. "What?" she asks, slowly sitting back down at the table.

"I can appreciate a hard worker," she starts. "But Dr. Han said you were here when he left last night. And I saw you when I came in this morning. And now here you are filling up on more caffeine to undoubtably work through the night yet again?"

She blows on the boiling drink in her hand. "I need something to keep me awake in those planning meetings."

"Hm," she issues out simply.

Tessa looks up at her. " _Hm_?"

"Coffee can only get you so far," she says with a frown.

"You sound like James."

Helen's face lights up. "Do I?" She pokes playfully at Tessa's arm as it lays on the table. "How is your soldier?"

"My soldier?" she giggles over the lip of her mug.

"Sergeant, right?" She nods. "Still gorgeous as ever?"

Tessa takes a quick sip before setting down the coffee. "Well, he's no Thor…"

As expected, the woman in front of her begins to burn bright with blush as her eyes fall to the tabletop. "And how is _he_?" she asks hesitantly. "Have you heard from him lately?"

Tessa shakes her head simply. "Nope. Not since just after the whole Ultron thing."

"Yes," she breathes out. "The _Ultron thing_."

It occurs to Tessa in that very moment, as she watches the woman's face in front of her gradually shift from a somewhat embarrassed smirk to a deep, troubled frown, that she hasn't once asked Helen about anything not U-Gin related over the last few weeks. She hasn't once asked her… "How have you been… since then?"

She looks up and locks somewhat sad eyes with Tessa. "It was hard for a while," she states, seemingly fine with laying it all out there. "I had… trouble. For a while. But it's been better." She lets out a deep sigh. "And with everything going on now, with this merger… well, I guess I haven't really had time to worry about any of it anyway."

"Exactly," Tessa enthuses. "Work is the perfect escape. If you have a job you love like we do, at least," she says with a wink.

Helen gives her an appraising look. "What are you escaping from then, Dr. Sullivan?"

Tessa picks her mug back up, holding it with both hands to absorb the warmth. She takes another sip before answering. "Existence as we know it," she replies finally, a crooked smile on her face.

000

She dreams that night. Actually _dreams_ … not tosses and turns as troubles and turmoil flit endlessly through her subconscious. Not slumbers only long enough for some unknowable _thing_ to rip her, viciously, from sleep. No. Tonight, she dreams.

The moment she fades away from this word into the reverie, she's instantly comforted by the recognizable feel of _home_.

She's outside the Professor's study, waiting for someone, perhaps… simply milling about, when she hears her name sound from inside the room. Leaning in, she hears it repeated again just before Jean insists, rather heatedly, "She has an agenda, Charles. Moira MacTaggert may be your friend, but she's dangerous –"

 _Dr. MacTaggert?_ They'd been introduced years ago so long ago, Tessa couldn't even say when. It was as though Moira MacTaggert had been a distant, though somehow ever-present fixture in her life. The dark-haired woman with the sad smile and stunning accent only visited the school rarely, each time lighting up upon seeing her _dear old friend_ , Professor Xavier. Each time making it a point to speak with Tessa in particular.

"Such a smart girl," she'd coo as the two sat together on the terrace catching up on all that she'd been learning in school. "You're going to be a scientist one day, yeah?" she'd ask with an eager smile. And Tessa would nod emphatically.

She never knew why Dr. MacTaggert had taken such an interest in her. She honestly never cared enough to give it much thought.

"Nonsense," the Professor interrupts with a slight laugh. "Moira is merely trying to help the girl find her way. She reminds her of herself, so many years ago."

Tessa leans in, just a bit further, just enough to be able to peek in through the crack in the doorway. She can't see Jean's face, a curtain of long red hair obscuring her view. But she notes the way her shoulders sag as her arms wrap tightly around her middle. And she can feel the fearful energy filtering out of her, like steam off a hot cup of tea. She shakes her head, red locks waving. "No," she tells him, voice firm. "No, that's not it."

Jean walks over to the Professor and plants her feet firmly in front of her. Her arms remain crossed in front of her chest as she pulls back her shoulders and rises to her full height. Immediately, Tessa recognizes it as the _you're in big trouble_ stance. It's the posture she takes on when someone interrupts class. Or when Tessa was little – after she'd first come to the school – and she'd run off to hide in small, out of the way places throughout the old building, supposedly scaring Scott half to death. Or that time that Jean found Tessa and John making out in the pantry. _No, wait, that was Anna_ , she thinks suddenly.

There she stands, the woman she'd for so long called her sister – even though Scott was far too chicken shit to ever ask her to marry him. The woman who was her least favorite teacher because she always expected _so damn much_ and never settled for anything less than excellent. The woman who had been more like a mother to her than anyone else in her life. There she is, standing tall before _Professor X_ , the single most powerful person that Tessa has ever known. "You tell me to trust what I feel," she says to him. "I'm telling you, what I _feel_ is that she wants to _use_ her."

The Professor's face changes, his soft smile dropping as he asks, "What on earth for?"

Jean leans in to respond, her voice so low that Tessa can barely hear a thing. The only word she's able to make out is, _Proteus_.

She wakes with a start, startled from sleep by that single word. _Proteus_.

She stares up at the ceiling in her hotel room, plainly seeing every detail, every paintbrush stroke, every odd stain and imperfection. She must've been so exhausted that she fell asleep just after getting in, not even having the energy to flip off the lights. She looks down at herself and sees that she's still wearing the suit Tony insisted she wear to the meetings that took up her entire day.

"Uhhhggghhh," she moans, rubbing the heels of her hands deep into her eyes as she begins to slowly roll off of the bed.

The moment her eyes close, however, she again sees the image of Jean and Professor X talking quietly in his study. It isn't a faded, dreamy sort of image, though. Rather – somehow – it's as though she's truly there, looming just outside his door, watching and creeping closer to better hear what they're saying.

"Moira would never do anything to hurt that child," he says to Jean, his voice sounding so clear, even if a bit distant. "Not even to benefit her own."

Tessa can feel herself leaning forward. She can feel her hip teetering on the edge of the bed. She can feel her fists balled up and pressing into her eyes. But she can also, strangely, feel the lively energy of the school, the calming power of the Professor, the protective vigor of Jean Grey.

It's the strangest thing… She can actually _feel_ , with the tips of her fingers, the cool wood of the paneling outside the room as she lays her hand upon it. She can smell the familiar aroma of the Professor's study – sandalwood and old books, burning wood from his fireplace mixed with, oddly, hints of tobacco.

And all at once, it comes flooding back to her. This _memory_. This moment from so long ago.

She knows exactly what happens next. Jean tells the Professor that she doesn't want Tessa to go to Muir Island for the summer, as Dr. MacTaggert had invited her to do. And Tessa, livid with the kind of self-righteous indignation only a teenage girl can spawn, kicks open the door and begins screaming about how she has no right to take this away from her.

Oh, yes. Now she remembers it all. The shouting match between her and Jean. The sad, disappointed looks Professor X cast at them from his spot by his desk. Scott rushing in, grabbing her – hard – by the arm, and marching her upstairs as though she were a little girl in need of a time out.

She didn't get to go to Muir Island that summer. Scott had said it was because of how she behaved – not just that evening, but the next day too, when she abruptly interrupted physics class to call Jean a manipulative, back-stabbing liar. He said that she wasn't allowed to go, and that was final… because he had _said so_. The next day, she stole his bike and was almost to Niagara when Logan found her and dragged her ass back home, sniggering most of the way.

How could she have forgotten that?

"I won't ever let her get close enough to try," she hears Jean say, a biting, threatening note to her voice. "Over my dead body will she spend any time on that island, alone with that woman."

 _Yes,_ Tessa thinks, shaking her head slowly, dreading what's about to come. _Yes, this is it._

But what happens next is… not at all what she remembers.

"That is true," she hears the Professor say, his voice slow and melodic. Tessa's gaze shifts from Jean to him. And she sees that he's looking right at her, right into her eyes. "It isn't until after Jean's body dies that you go to Muir Island, isn't that right?"

She rips her hands away from her eyes, lids flying open wide. She lets out a startled gasp as she falls off of the bed and hits the floor with a hard _thunk_. The room slowly swims into focus around her… her shoes laying haphazardly by the wall, kicked off the moment she got in. The television playing low, dramatic music over a woman crying in some Korean soap opera. Her reflection to the right, a full-length mirror showing a terrified looking woman sitting curled in a heap on the floor of a 5-star hotel in downtown Seoul.

She stares at her reflection, watches in the mirror as she slowly flexes her right hand, then her left. _Yes_ , she thinks. _Okay, I can feel that_. She blinks rapidly, too afraid to let her eyes linger shut.

Her cell rings. It's on the bed above her, but she doesn't reach for it. She looks curiously back at her reflection, notices something… different about the woman in the mirror. Slowly shifting to all fours, she begins to crawl across the room until she's face to face with her, mere inches separating them.

 _How could you not remember?_ she hears, a voice so clear and crisp that it must mean someone is in the room with her. She swings her head around, looking for the owner of the voice as she falls to her butt and scurries backwards until her back is pressed firmly against the bed's footboard. But there's no one there.

"I'm losing my mind," she whispers to herself, fingers entwining in her hair, clawing at her scalp.

 _How could you not remember?_ the voice repeats. _How?_

She begins to rock back and forth on the cold floor, wide eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. Again, her phone rings.

 _Anna?_ she hears. Stopping the rocking, she loosens her grip on her hair, just slightly and she twists her head side to side, once again looking for the voice. This one sounds familiar… so, so familiar. _Anna, look at me._ Her eyes meander back to the mirror, slowly focusing on the reflection in front of her.

She sees herself, still in the designer suit Pepper helped her pick out before the trip. Her legs are curled up into her chest, her hands still gripping and ripping at her hair. But there's something… wrong with them, with her hands. No… her wrists. There's blood seeping from her wrists, oozing down her forearms. Her hands go cold, numb, as _so much_ blood pours from her body, soaking into the Italian silk of her suit.

The woman in the mirror locks eyes with her just as her vision begins to blur. She parts her mouth just slightly, bluish lips tumbling open. And she screams, in a sharp, piercing, deafening tone, _Look at me!_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This would probably be a good time for me to remind everyone that, in addition to owning none of the MCU, I own no X-Men either.


	38. Coming Home

It had been a long day of doing next to nothing. An early summer heat wave rolled through the day before and left everyone feeling rather… for lack of a better word, lazy. Which was fine, really. There was no current big bad to hunt down. At least not one of any urgency, not considering the fact that any and all leads on Lobe had come up dry. And they had finally finished setting everything up for the new tier two and three teams they'd be training, even though they weren't set to start orientation for another week. So none of the Avengers – save Vision and Wanda, who are off… somewhere, doing… something – felt particularly bad about splaying out in front of the TV in the common area that evening to do some more… well, nothing.

"I still don't get it," Steve says, perplexed look on his face. "Why would surfers want to rob a bank?"

Clint yawns from his spot on the floor. He looks away from the movie and glances up at the very confused looking man on the couch. "Why would anyone want to rob a bank, Cap? Money."

His brow furrows further. "Yeah, but – "

"No buts," Natasha nearly shouts. "Just watch the damn movie."

"Nat's got a thing for Keanu Reeves," Clint whispers conspiratorially.

She glares at him. "I can hear you."

"I don't care," he tells her, rising with a groan. "I'm getting more beer. Anyone else?"

Bucky and Steve raise their hands in unison.

As Clint moves into the kitchenette, he hears footsteps on the stairs outside the room. And all at once, their peaceful, idle comradery is interrupted.

"What is this?" Tony asks with mock horror, side-stepping Clint as he saunters into the common area. "I leave you alone for three short weeks and you turn into a giant pile of lazy… frat boys," he finishes, pinching two empty beer bottles between his fingers and nodding down to the open pizza box on the counter.

"Hey," Clint croons, ignoring Tony and focusing instead on Tessa as she trudges into the room behind him. "Doc's back!" He goes over and relieves her of the heavy box that has her teetering.

"Careful, that's… important," she tells him as he easily lifts it from her arms.

"Expensive, she means," Tony tosses over his shoulder, a frown on his face. He moves over to the group and flops into the empty chair in the corner. "Point Break!" he exclaims, pointing at the TV.

Bucky's heart feels like it skips a beat when he sees Tessa. She looks tired – weary, even – and a bit pale. But who wouldn't after traveling all day with Stark? She tugs at her sweatshirt to straighten the wrinkled mess, and then reaches up to take down the haphazard knot of wild waves sitting on the top of her head. But she drops her hands suddenly the minute she sees him, her face lighting up with what could only be termed pure, absolute elation.

He makes a move to get up from the couch, but quickly settles back when he sees that she's making a beeline for him. She practically hurls herself into his lap, diving over Natasha, who's splayed on the floor in front of him. Her feet end up in Steve's face and he groans with annoyance before tamping them down into his lap so that he can continue to focus on the movie in front of him.

"I'm home," she says into Bucky's shoulder as she wraps her arms around his middle.

The embrace is awkward as hell with her draped over him like that, but he does his best to pull her close and hold her tight as he whispers into her hair, "'Bout damn time."

"So," Clint says returning to the group and handing out beers. He holds one out for Tessa as well, but conveniently ignores Tony. "What's in the box?"

She flips around and wiggles into an _almost_ sitting position. Still partially in Bucky's lap, she accepts the beer. He shifts beneath her, causing her to drop onto the couch cushion, making it easier for her to lean back and curl into his side. "It's a prototype of a cellular regeneration unit that's designed to target cytotoxic T-cells."

Clint's eyes widen. "O-kay," he drawls out before sitting back on the floor. "You could've just said _science stuff_."

"Were you hoping she brought you a souvenir?" Natasha teases, suddenly far less interested in the movie now that Keanu is off-screen.

"I mean, would've been nice."

"There's four cases of soju on the jet," Tony states.

Clint wrinkles up his nose. "What's that?"

Tessa swallows down a swig of beer and says, "Rice liquor." His face screws up even further. "It's good. A little sweet. And it'll _fuck you up_."

He pops up off the floor and sets his beer on the coffee table with a thunk. "Doc, you're a peach," he says with a wink. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the hangar getting blitzed on rice."

"Hey," Tony calls out as Clint leaves the group behind. "I'm the one who brought it back. Don't thank her." He settles back into the puffy chair with a scowl. "I get no appreciation."

"I appreciate you, Tony," Tessa tells him.

"That's because I'm the reason you have that cellular toxic box thingy over there," he says, waving his hand at the prototype on the counter.

"Yes. That is true." She scoots further into Bucky, taking hold of the arm he has draped around her and tugging it closer to her chest. Glancing at the TV, she asks him, "Have you not seen this?"

He shakes his head and looks down at her with a quirked brow. "But I also really don't give a shit about what happens in it."

She smiles at him, big and bright, and takes a final swig of her beer before handing it off to Steve. "Here," she says to him, reaching around and grabbing the one from Bucky's grasp to turn over to him as well.

"You guys got other plans?" he asks with a knowing smirk.

"Yep," Bucky answers, hopping up and throwing Tessa over his shoulder in one quick move.

She lets out a small yelp as he holds her dangling body in place while stepping over Natasha. "Goodnight," she says with a laugh, waving at her friends as she's carried from the room.

The rest of them sit in casual silence, each gradually turning back to the movie. Natasha reaches up and takes one of the extra beers from Steve and hands it over to Tony. "I don't know what the hell we're supposed to do with that box," he says, taking a swig and settling his head back against the cushions.

000

He doesn't put her down until they reach the bedroom, at which point he tosses her unceremoniously onto the bed with a soft thud. She lays there, splayed out on top of the perfectly made bed, her face red from all the blood that flowed to her head while he had her upside down. Giggling a bit maniacally, she says, "I'm not sure if I'm turned on or deeply troubled by that caveman display."

He kicks off his shoes and quickly climbs on top of her. "Turned on?" he asks, lowering himself down to pepper her neck with kisses.

He makes it to her collarbone, tenderly sucking and softly nipping at the flesh there, before she issues out a quick, "Wait, wait, wait!" Just as he starts to pull away, she hooks her leg through his, grabs onto his shoulders, and rolls with such force that she manages to flip him over onto his back.

"That was pretty good," he laughs, looking up at her bright, smiling face. She's straddling him now, her knees pressed into his hips, her hands pushing down on his shoulders, keeping him pinned to the mattress. "Who've you been practicing that move with," he asks, brow furrowed even as his grin grows wider.

She stares down at him, her long dark hair falling down to frame both their faces. The soft giggles slowly subside and she says wistfully, "I just want to see your face for a minute." She moves one hand from his shoulder to his cheek, running her thumb lightly over the smile-induced crinkles at the corner of his eye. "I missed your face."

He turns his head toward her hand and kisses her palm gently, never breaking eye contact. "I missed… all of you," he says, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

" _All_ of me?" she asks, sitting back onto her heels. She pulls her sweatshirt off over her head and tosses it to the side.

His hands move to her waist, fingers sliding under the thin fabric of her tank top. "Definitely," he replies, suddenly hooking his fingertips beneath the waistband of her jeans and giving a quick jerk. The motion is enough to knock her off balance and she tumbles down onto him, laughing.

With his metal hand, he _accidentally_ pops the button off her jeans and breaks the zipper all with one quick flick of the fingers. "Hey," she protests through the giggles, trying to pull herself upright. But before she can, he wraps his flesh and bone arm around her and holds her close. Snaking his fingers up her back, her neck, and into her hair, he presses her head down, bringing her lips to his and letting his thirst take over.

When it's all said and done, almost every piece of clothing lies torn and strewn about the room. Her tank top is unsalvageable. The clasp on her bra is busted beyond repair. His T-shirt is in two pieces… somewhere on the floor. And the truth is, neither of them are entirely sure who destroyed what. Tessa collapses onto the mattress beside him and lets out a small gasp as something sharp digs into her hip. Rolling slightly and reaching down, she comes back with what looks like the button from _his_ jeans pinched between her fingers. "Oh, fuck," she laughs uncontrollably, staring at the tiny piece of metal before chucking it across the room.

"This should be a sign," he says through laughter. "We can't be apart for long or we'll get…"

"Crazy?"

"I was going to say destructive," he utters, pensive look overtaking his face. "Dangerous?"

She curls into his side, pulling her arms into her chest as she rolls closer to him. "It was only three weeks," she mumbles, burying her face in his neck.

"Three and a _half_ ," he corrects with a smirk. He pulls her in closer, wrapping his right arm tightly around her when he feels her shiver. "You cold?" he asks, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up to cover her. She nods into him. "Still?"

"You have the AC blasting," she chides, gripping the sheet.

He scoffs loudly but obligingly reaches down to the foot of the bed in search of the quilt and pulls it up to wrap around her. "I figured that would've warmed you up," he quips.

"It did. For a minute."

"Oh, but just for a minute?" She peeks her face out from his side and shoots him a sly smile before settling down on his chest. Instinctively, his right hand moves up into her hair, slowly twisting into the thick waves. He breathes her in and says, in a soft, almost sad voice, "I started using your shampoo."

She rolls her head up so she can look him in the eye. "I thought you looked more… lustrous," she mocks.

He lets out a small chuckle and she settles back into him, letting the laugh reverberate through his chest and into her. "I missed your smell," he says simply.

"You always have been a little too interested in how I smell."

She can feel him shrug beneath her. "I like what I like."

She reaches out and takes his metal hand in hers, brings it over to her face. He quickly gets the hint and after brushing back the hair from her temple, he starts gently kneading his thumb between her eyes. "I got a couple migraines while I was away," she says softly, almost dreamily. "One was pretty bad. And I went to the minibar in the hotel and got one of those cute, tiny cans of soda out. And I rolled it on my forehead. Cold metal." She shifts a bit and looks up at him. "It wasn't the same."

He frowns down at her. "Sorry, baby."

She lets out a long sigh – "I survived." – and tucks the quilt up beneath her chin. "Is this new?" she asks suddenly, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "Did you buy a quilt?"

"Ah, yeah," he replies sheepishly. "It got too hot for your comforter. And Romanov made us all go to some farmers market thing. Got some really good tomatoes, though."

"I leave town for three weeks and you become the kind of guy who shops for quilts and tomatoes at the farmers market?"

"Three and a _half_ weeks. And I didn't _shop_ for a quilt, I just saw it and bought it." He lays a quick kiss on the top of her head before saying, "I bought it for you too, you know."

"Well then, I love it" she breathes out. "Did you buy me anything else?"

"Yeah, I sure did, last Christmas. She's waiting for you in the garage."

"Ducati!" she nearly screams, flying up next to him. He can't help but laugh at the goofy, excited expression on her face as she pulls the quilt up over her naked shoulders. "How is my baby?"

"She's good," he chuckles. "Runs like a dream."

Her smile fades a bit when she asks, "Did you take her out?"

"Was I not supposed to?" he counters, casually folding his arm behind his head.

She sighs. "Well, she does get antsy being cooped up for too long." Looking down at him thoughtfully, she adds, "She's not very good at sitting still."

He reaches out and delicately runs his fingers along her thigh, the milky white skin peeking out from the folds of the quilt. "Got that from her mother," he quips.

She scoots closer to him, his hand disappearing beneath the cover as she does so. His fingers trail back a bit and find her naked hip. "Where did you two go?" she asks as he continues to absently stroke her.

"This morning we went into the city for coffee," he tells her, glancing up with a sly smile.

She frowns at him. "You went to _our_ coffee shop? In the city? Without me?" He nods, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "James!" she whines, smacking his shoulder.

"Ow," he complains with a laugh. "See if I give you any croissants now."

Her eyes light up, and for the briefest of moments he feels like _this_ is _knowing._

She almost flies off the bed, sweeping the quilt with her, nearly tripping over it as it tangles in her bare legs. "Have I told you lately that I love you?" she shoots over her shoulder as she steadies herself in the doorway.

"Not lately, no," he utters, pulling himself out of bed and searching the floor for his felled jeans. He doesn't remember that the button was yanked off until after her pulls them on, but he can't be bothered by that point to find others. When he looks up, she's already gone, so he simply zips up the pants, grabs a clean T-shirt, and heads into the kitchen to make sure she finds the bakery box.

By the time he gets there, she's already curled up at the breakfast bar, half of a croissant gone in front of her. "I'm starving," she says with a full mouth.

He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two beers, easily pops the tops to both, and hands her one. "You want me to make you something?" He glances up at the clock – only eight.

"Nah," she says, shaking her head. "I'll just eat half a dozen or so more of these and call it a night."

"You know those are more butter than anything?" he asks with a raised brow.

She nods. "Yeah. That's what makes them so delicious."

He shakes his head and chuckles, takes a swig of his beer, and leans up against the counter. A smile spreads across his face as he watches her, not just because she's back… back here with him. But also because, "I'm glad you're hungry."

She gives him a perplexed look as she brings the beer bottle to her lips.

"Before you left…" he explains. "You weren't really eating. I was beginning to think you were gonna waste away."

She shrugs. "I ate a lot of rice and kimchi. And McDonalds. Everywhere in the world you go, there's McDonald's and 7-Eleven."

"Yeah," he says, getting a faraway look in his eyes. His brain plays back dozens and dozens of images of the golden arches, popping up in the periphery of long-buried memories of missions across the globe. "Why is that?"

"Good business model," she replies, stretching across the counter for another croissant.

He studies her for a long moment before asking, "What about the nightmares?" He waits until she looks up and meets his eyes before he continues. "How've you been sleeping?"

To his credit, he had only brought the nightmares up once while she was in Korea, most likely because he knows her well enough to know that she'd see it as infuriating meddling. So she's a bit more forgiving of it now. But even so… "Worried I might interfere with your sleep?"

He ducks his head a bit sheepishly. "I haven't really been able to sleep without you here anyway." He glances back up at her with a single raised brow. "You've ruined me."

She barks out a laugh. "Well that's a shame. I for one, slept great," she tells him, her voice so strong and conclusive that she almost has herself convinced it's true. "That bed was _amazing_."

He frowns. "Even without me in it?"

"I could starfish to my heart's content."

He sorts. "You do that here anyway."

She sets down the torn-apart croissant and gazes at him with a somber expression. It's not that she wants to lie to him. She would never _want_ to lie to him. He's just been so worried. And truthfully, knowing that she's the cause of all that concern breaks her heart. "I think I'm good," she tells him, averting her eyes at the last moment. "Or… I think I'm getting there?" It's not a lie, really. Whatever's going on… it's just a weird sort or phase. She's sure of it. It's nothing more than an odd psychological reaction to trauma. With enough time, it'll pass.

"Yeah?" he asks hesitantly.

She gives him a small smile. "Tony and I had a talk. He told me about… how he was. After the battle in New York."

"Oh, you mean when he flew a nuclear warhead through a portal in the sky?" he asks, voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Oh, you've heard that story?" she teases. "Anyway… he basically died. And he said it really fucked with his head." She casts her eyes down and watches her fingers as they slowly pull apart the pastry in front of her, bit by bit. "My head's just been… a bit fucked up too."

"But he got through it," Bucky supplies from across the room. She looks up and sees the warmth and reassurance in his bright blue eyes. "And so will you."

She nods – "Yeah. Yeah, I know." – and pulls the quilt tighter around her as she shivers.


	39. Supernova

_The moon is full and bright, burning like a white hot ember above them. She lays on her back in the damp grass, arms crossed behind her head. Looking to her left she sees only the thick, rich red of Jean's hair glistening in the moonlight._

 _Jean Grey sighs contentedly, pivoting her head to look at the little girl resting next to her. "I heard that you and Bobby and John were choosing_ superhero _names for yourselves," she says with a knowing grin._

 _"_ _Not in class," the girl defends._

 _She shifts her gaze back up to the stars overhead. "We're not superheroes. You know that," she says with a soft of finality. "We're just… people."_

 _"_ _Super people," the girl snickers._

 _Jean laughs despite herself, the light sound tinkling through the night sky. Staring up at the tiny dots of light above, she utters, "You are, I think." Then, looking back down at the child by her side. "You are very special. You know that?"_

 _She nods. "Professor told me so."_

 _Raising her gaze once more to the heavens, she lets out a soft sigh. "Can you tell me what a star is?" she asks the girl, beginning her lesson._

 _"_ _It's a giant ball of plasma. And it's far, far away."_

 _"_ _Still my best student." She grins. "But how is it that we see that star at all, if it's far, far away?"_

 _The girl frowns in thought. "Thermonuclear fusion," she says finally, satisfied smile pulling at every corner of her face. "The star converts helium into hydrogen. And energy is released."_

 _"_ _Light. Light so bright we can see it here on earth." She stares dreamily up into the sky, watching the bright white lights burn steadily from millions of miles away. When she glances back down at the girl, she sees her doing the same. "And what is energy?" she asks softly, a bit hesitantly._

 _The girl turns to her and gives her a knowing look. "Energy is me."_

 _She laughs, a sudden and luminous burst of sound in an otherwise silent space. "And me," she corrects. "And everyone. And everything." Her smile fades slightly, her tone returning to_ teacher _. "What is conservation of energy?"_

 _"_ _Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. It can only be transformed or transferred from one form to another," the girl recites, as though reading straight from her textbook._

 _Jean says nothing, continuing instead to simply gaze out into the cosmos. A cool breeze blows past them, ruffling their hair and making each shiver in turn. "_ Supernova _," she mutters absently. "That should be your name."_

 _The girl looks over at her, watches as her features soften and relax, her eyes nearly falling shut as she stares longingly at the stars above. "Why?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper._

 _Jean lets out a long sigh and says, "Nova means new. A long, long time ago, when people first saw one… it was as though a new star just burst into life. There was nothing. Then there was this bright beacon burning_ so _bright that they thought it must be a new star." She turns and beams affectionately at the girl. "_ So _bright, that they thought it was a_ super _star," she finishes with a wink._

 _The girl giggles and pulls her sweater tighter around her frame._

 _Jean turns her gaze back up to the night sky. "But it wasn't new at all," she says with a note of melancholy._

 _"_ _What was it?" she asks after a long, silent moment._

 _"_ _It was death." Jean continues to stare up at the night sky blanketing the world, not even sparing the girl a glance as she explains, "Stars, like everything else, eventually die. But when a particularly massive star dies – I mean one that's twenty times more massive than our sun – then the explosion can be… cataclysmic. That's a supernova. And a supernova can outshine entire galaxies. It can put out more energy than you could ever dream possible."_

 _"_ _I am energy," the girl repeats wistfully._

 _Jean turns on her side to face the girl. She reaches out and rests a single delicate hand on her cheek. "I know you are."_

 _"_ _But… how does it die? Or… why?" she asks, wrinkling her brow in confusion._

 _"_ _Well, it starts to run out hydrogen and helium. But there's_ so much _pressure inside that it fuses carbon and its core gets heavier and heavier. Then it starts to implode and the center heats up and… boom."_

 _"_ _Boom?"_

 _"_ _All of the matter bounces off the super-dense core and blows out into space. And_ that _is what shines so, so bright." Jean smiles brightly at her, more than pleased by the abiding interest the little girl is showing._

 _"_ _But… what's left? Just bits and pieces?"_

 _"_ _The core becomes its own new star. A neutron star. That star just keeps…" She frowns suddenly. "It keeps folding in on itself… until it becomes…"_

 _"_ _What?" she asks softly._

 _Jean locks somber eyes with the girl. "They recently discovered that supernovas, just before they explode, they vibrate and hum." She takes the girl's hand in her own. "Sometimes I can feel_ you _vibrating. Sometimes I can hear_ you _hum."_

 _If the girl is frightened, she doesn't show it. Only interest piques in her eyes as she asks, "Am I going to explode?"_

 _She offers the smallest of smiles. "We all die someday," she tells her, her voice changing a bit, becoming oddly unfamiliar. Then, turning back to the stars, she says, "But when you go, I imagine you'll burn brighter than anyone ever thought possible. And you'll become something new… something more powerful that anyone could ever overcome."_

 _The girl turns and gazes at the side of Jean's face. She reaches out and touches her long, red hair, pets it tenderly. Slowly, the woman turns her head, craning a bit as she looks over at the girl. Her features are soft, delicate and kind. But her eyes are not the deep green that the girl knows so well. Instead they glow red, burning like fire. The flesh of her face slowly begins to crack and pull apart, like molten rock spewing forth lava. Her lips part, mouth opening as if to speak._

 _But the only sound that comes out is a deafening, terrified scream._

Tessa's eyes shoot open, momentarily lost in the darkness of the room around her. She can still hear the scream, echoing painfully in her ears. It isn't until her eyes are able to focus enough to make out his face – to see his horrified face looming above her – that she realizes the scream is coming from her.

Bucky's got her pinned beneath him, both hands encasing her face, holding tightly to her burning cheeks, forcing her to look at him. There's light coming in from the hallway – he must've been up when he heard her scream – so she can just make out the utter terror in his eyes as he blinks down at her.

"Sorry," she hears herself eke out, a weak and winded whisper. "I'm sorry."

She soaks in his quiet gaze for a long, breathless moment as she feels his heart break.

000

She doesn't remember falling back asleep. The last thing she remembers is Bucky pulling her close and letting her sob into his chest. _Shit._ She lets out a low groan at the memory and turns her head to the side. The sun is just starting to rise, but he's already left his place in bed. She can hear the shower running.

She closes her eyes tightly and begins to drift. But she's still aware enough to hear the shower turn off, and to recognize the slight patter of his stealthy footfalls as he approaches the bed.

The mattress dips with his weight. "It's almost six," he says, words clipped.

"Okay," she mumbles into the pillow, making no move to rise.

He continues to sit beside her, his hand eventually – hesitantly – coming to rest on her back. "You want to sleep in?" he asks softly as he begins to stroke gentle lines along her spine.

She opens her eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh – "No." – and pushes herself upright. "No. I have to be in the city by nine."

He gives her a quick nod, saying nothing, and heads into the kitchen to prepare some coffee.

By the time she showers and makes it into the kitchen herself, there's already half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs sitting in front of him and another full plate beside him at the breakfast bar waiting for her.

He gives her an assessing look as she trudges into the kitchen to pour herself some coffee. "I thought you said you were going into the city," he questions, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Normally, going into the city meant at least office casual attire. But here she was, standing before him in yoga pants and a faded sweatshirt, her wet hair making Pollak-esque designs on the dark fabric as it drips down her shoulders.

She sees his confused frown and looks down at herself. "I just have to meet with the designer. Instead of putting me back in my old office in the tower, Pepper wants to put together something new. That way I can be on the same floor as the lab." She dumps some sugar into her coffee, stirs it quickly and turns back to him. "We're just going over some of the plans."

He nods his head absently, makes a move to take another bite of eggs, then thinks better of it and sets his fork down gently on the edge of the plate. "I think you should see someone," he says earnestly, the frown still etched on his face as he looks over at her.

She sighs and leans her hip into the counter. "I'm sorry about last night."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to be better."

She looks up at him, glaring daggers as she replies, "You don't get to decide when or how that happens."

He raises his eyebrows at her, almost in a challenge. "You're going into the city anyway… why don't you just go talk to Dr. Mayer?"

"Your therapist?"

"You've met her before, talked to her before –"

"About _you_ ," she interrupts, her voice beginning to rise. " _With_ you."

"I can go with you, if you want," he offers simply.

She presses her lids firmly together and shakes her head. "No. No, I don't want you to go with me to see _your_ therapist so I can talk about… about… about what?"

He gets up from his seat and angrily grabs his plate. She cringes when he flings it into the sink with such force that it breaks in two. "You realize that last night was the first night you even slept in the same bed as me since you got back?"

"That's not true," she scoffs. "My first night back we slept –"

"On the couch," he supplies. "We fell asleep on the couch and only for a few hours. When we got up, you decided to go check in at the lab."

"Yeah, well… it was morning. And I had things to do."

"And you stayed there all night. And the next night, you fell asleep in your office. Same thing on Wednesday."

"You weren't even in bed," she spits out, suddenly remembering the light emanating from the hall when he woke her last night. "I came home early –"

"Ten is early, now?"

She grimaces, but goes on. "I came home and went to bed, and you –"

"Stayed up another hour to finish plans on a training run for the new recruits." He looks at her intently. "An _hour_ , Tessa. That's how long I stayed up after you went to bed. And I looked in on you… five, maybe ten minutes after you went in there. You were out cold. That's how exhausted you were."

She shrugs. "Okay. Yeah, I'm exhausted. I have a lot on my plate right now."

He raises his eyebrows and bites down on his bottom lip in frustration. "Whatever this is… it's getting worse."

"You're being dramatic," she defends uselessly.

He lets out a pained sigh. "Last night," he starts slowly, stormy gray eyes boring into her. "You scared the _hell_ out of me." She hears the slight sound of metal on metal and glances down to see that he's gripping the edge of the sink so hard that his fingers are leaving ruts. "The way you screamed…" He shakes his head absently. "Baby, it sounded like you were being murdered."

She drops her gaze to the floor. "It was just a dream."

"I couldn't wake you," he goes on, reaching down and taking hold of her hand. He twines their fingers together as he says, "I called out to you. I was shaking you." His hand squeezes hers tightly. "You wouldn't stop screaming."

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, the same refrain as before. She winces with regret the moment he drops her hand.

"If you mean that, then you'll go talk to someone. For me."

She looks up at him and meets his sad, expectant eyes. "I don't want to," she tells him, the words sounding insolent, but her voice holding nothing more than fear and apprehension.

He reaches out and rubs her upper arm, the stroke firm but soothing. He lets out a sharp breath and asks with forced subtlety, "What about Sam?"

She quirks her head at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion. "What about him?"

"He volunteers at the VA, running group therapy sessions for vets."

"I say I don't want to talk to someone and you come back with group therapy?"

He shakes his head impatiently. "No. I'm saying that Sam knows how to listen. Talk to Sam."

The corner of her mouth quirks up into a crooked smile. "You hate Sam," she teases.

"No I don't. I never said I did." He pulls his hand from her shoulder and leans back into the counter behind him. "Besides, I'm not the one who's gonna be talking to him." He looks up at her with a hopeful expression. "You are."

"Oh I am, am I?"

He pushes off of the counter and steps closer to her, wraps his arms lazily around her hips and drops his forehead to hers. "Please," he breathes out. Then, in a more serious, more pleading tone as he pulls back to look her in the eye, "Please, doll?"

She nods quickly, that much affirmation being all she can muster.

He kisses her tenderly. At this point, he'll take what he can get.


	40. Bagels and Sam

It's a bit of a whirlwind that Sunday morning. The new recruits are starting to filter in and Bucky has been selected – by Steve, of course – to help them get settled. Makes perfect sense really… who better to greet bright-eyed former agents and soldiers excited about embarking on a future with the _Avengers_ – the great bastions of hope in an otherwise hopeless world – than an often bitter, always distrustful, rarely smiling former assassin who has precisely 0% interest in welcoming anyone new into his life?

"You'll do great!" Tessa laughs, more than just a hint of mockery in her voice as she flits out of the kitchen to answer the door.

He grumbles something nasty and unintelligible in response before dropping his still half-full mug into the sink with a sharp thud. When he looks up again it's to see Sam stroll into his kitchen carrying a brown paper sack and wearing a far-too-enthusiastic smile.

"Hey," he says, holding up the bag. "I brought bagels!"

Tessa sweeps in behind him, almost running into his shoulder as she fervently texts away, just as she had been doing all morning. "Thanks," she mutters distractedly, a cross look taking over her face.

Bucky just frowns. "I'm leaving."

"Oh yeah," Sam starts with a mischievous grin. "Steve said he was having you show some of the new guys around. I'm sure they're gonna love that."

"Dammit!" Tessa shouts suddenly, slamming her phone onto the counter. "I'm gonna fucking kill him!"

Bucky sighs. "Time to put this away," he tells her, reaching over and sliding her cell towards him.

She watches the phone as it moves along the countertop, stares at it with a seething sort of rage.

"Should I ask?" Sam inquires lightly.

"No," they both mutter in unison.

Tessa pulls in a deep breath and looks over at him. "So, what do we do? Should I go lie on the couch? Do you need a pad and pen to take notes on my Freudian slips and latent… whatevers?"

"Actually," Sam starts. "I thought we'd start with bagels." He holds out the bag again, but she just stares at it as though it's some kind of trick.

"Alright," Bucky says with a roll of the eyes, taking the bag from Sam's hand and placing it on the breakfast bar. "I gotta go." He turns to Tessa and gives her a stern look. "Don't be an asshole."

"Don't _you_ be an asshole," she returns.

"I can't promise that." He leans in and gives her a quick kiss before turning and heading out. "I love you," he tosses over his shoulder.

"I love you too."

"Hey," Sam complains. "What about me?"

A metal middle finger glints in the mid-morning sun streaming in from the window, the only farewell Bucky has to offer before slamming the door shut behind him.

He turns to Tessa. "He loves me. I'm sure of it."

She refills her coffee mug and pours some for him too. "I've no doubt," she utters, handing him the cup and breezing past him into the living room. She drops onto the couch, folding her legs up underneath her. "So," she begins, sipping at her coffee and watching him intently as he moves over to the chair in the corner and takes a seat, bagel in one hand, coffee in the other.

"So?"

She stares at him over the lip of her mug, eyes cloaked with suspicion. "You do group therapy?"

"I do," he tells her. "Kinda came about slowly, but I ran some support groups in DC and I've got one going in the city now." He raises his eyebrows at her and takes a long sip of coffee. "You curious about my training?" She gives a shrug in response. "I have some certifications…"

"Community college?" she asks with a scoff.

"Whoa," he says with a laugh. "Is the accomplished doctor shaming me right now?"

She frowns before letting out a long sigh. "Sorry."

"No worries." He sets down his mug and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Tess," he says sincerely. "This isn't a therapy session. I'm not here to psychoanalyze you. I'm not gonna ask you to talk about your mother –"

"I never knew my mother," she interrupts.

His brows shoot up. "Well, that is interesting. Maybe I do need a notebook to write this down." His attempt at a joke makes the corners of her mouth rise ever so slightly and causes her shoulders to drop to a _bit_ more relaxed posture. "I just want to help."

She nods slowly. "Okay."

"So, whatever you wanna talk about, let's do it." He leans back in the chair and bites into his bagel.

She quirks her head at him. "Are you secretly in love with my boyfriend?"

"You're more my type," he replies with a full mouth.

She narrows her eyes at him. "Is this _help_ an attempt to seduce me?"

He swallows and raises a single brow. "The bagels were."

"Croissants are more my thing," she says with a shrug.

"I'll keep that in mind."

She begins to sip her coffee again, turning her gaze out the window to her left. It's a beautiful sunny day and she's almost tempted to suggest that they head out for a walk. But the idea of people seeing them together and even _possibly_ assuming that he's helping her – even _possibly_ assuming that she needs help, of any kind – creates a tight, dull ache in the pit of her stomach. "What did he tell you?" she asks, her eyes never leaving the wooded grounds outside the window.

Sam cocks his head at her. "Bucky?" he asks, knowing full well that's who she means. She turns to him slowly and dramatically rolls her eyes. "He said you were having a tough time," he offers with a smile.

There's something about the deep, rich tone of his voice that just emanates sincerity and… trust. And as annoyed as she is about this whole thing – _why won't everyone just back off?_ – she can't help the deep-seated desire to actually talk some of this out with someone. So she nods, unfurls her legs from beneath her, and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I think…" she starts, ducking her face and taking in a quick breath. "I think that I might be… losing it… a little."

His deep brown eyes shine with a sort understanding… a sort of empathy. "Okay," he says with a nod. "Just a little, though?"

She lets out a small chuckle despite herself and leans back into the couch cushions, her hands falling into her lap. She stares down at them and resists the urge to weave her fingers together and begin pulling and twisting. "It's weird," she mutters, brow furrowed. "My hands…" she holds them up so he can see. "Sometimes, lately… I don't recognize them."

She hears the clink of his mug on the side table and looks up. "When I first got back," he shakes his head absently. "Sometimes I'd look at myself in the mirror and I wouldn't recognize the guy looking back at me." He offers a small, tender smile. "Trauma does strange things to a person's psyche."

"Yeah," she agrees, nodding. "Yeah. I mean… I expected that I might… I don't know…" Her face pinches as she thinks. "It makes sense that I don't really want to take a bath, you know?"

"Because you drowned," he states, no question to his voice. "Have you tried?"

She nods, her eyebrows rising. "Yeah, actually. Ever since then… ever since I _drowned_ , I've been freezing." She looks down to her hands again and notices that they're buried deep in the sleeves of her sweatshirt, clutching to the cuffs with desperation. "Thought a hot bath might help," she says with a shrug. "Somehow I felt… colder."

"Did you feel… panic? Or fear?"

She nods. "Some. Yeah."

"Any flashbacks?"

She looks up at him with wide eyes. "Flashbacks? To being in the trunk?" He nods. "No. I don't really remember it, actually."

"That's not uncommon," he tells her. "There's this guy I know who had his leg blown off by an IED. He can walk you through every minute of that day – before and after the explosion. But the blast itself? Nothing. Even though he never lost consciousness, can't remember a damn thing."

"Defense mechanism," she mumbles distractedly.

"The mind is a crazy, beautiful thing."

She frowns deeply and looks up at him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course," he says, all soft sincerity.

She takes a moment to think about how exactly to explain what's going on in her brain right now. "Do you think…" She begins to chew her lip. "I'm wondering if it's me," she says finally, looking to Sam as though he'll have some sort of answer for the question she can't even put into words.

"How do you mean?"

"There's a lot in my life that I don't remember." She locks eyes with him, waiting for a reaction. When he shows nothing more than a patient interest, she takes in a long, deep inhale and goes on. "It's like there are… holes in my memory. And… confusion. You know that feeling you get when you're not sure if something is really a memory, or if it's actually a dream you once had?" He nods. "It's like that. But with… everything."

His forehead furrows, lips press tightly together, as he thinks on that for a moment. "When you say _everything_ , you mean your early childhood?"

"My _whole_ childhood," she utters almost wistfully. "And then some." She gives a short shrug and lets out an exaggerated sigh. "James thinks I don't talk about my past because it's hard. Because… shitty things happened. And that's true… that's part of it. But there's also always this… this _voice_ in the back of my head that's telling me _no, that's not real. That's not how it happened_." She glances at Sam and sees that he's at a loss for words, seemingly deep in thought. "The dream I had the other night," she begins, her voice almost trembling with hesitancy. "I think it was a memory. Sort of. I think that parts of it were real." Her face screws up in confusion. "But it's not something that I ever remembered before. Not like that anyway. I just…" she shakes her head and closes her eyes tightly as the familiar sting of tears suddenly begins to burn behind them.

"What was the dream about?" he asks softly, his words carrying such a tenderness that it almost makes her want to let the tears loose.

But she can't do that. She can't have yet another person look at her with pity and concern and confusion. So she takes a moment to pull in a deep, stilling breath and does what she can to calm herself – pulling just the slightest bit of serene energy from Sam. "Jean," she finally lets out before turning to face him. "It was me… and Jean."

He nods. "Who's Jean?"

"She's… she was my… teacher. And friend." She smirks and snickers just a bit. "And she would've been my sister-in-law if my brother had ever grown a pair and asked her."

"So you were close?" Sam asks.

"Mhmm." Her eyes fall back to her hands, laying in her lap once more, this time tangled together, working and worrying her fingers until they turn bright red.

She can hear Sam shift in his seat. "What was the dream about?" he asks again. "You were there with Jean…"

Her brow furrows as she tries to make out a sound coming from outside. She looks out the window, expecting to see someone in the field below, loudly muttering. But there's no one there. "We were…" she starts, eyes still darting around in search of someone… something. "We were watching the stars." She looks over at Sam and sees that he's focused entirely on her, seemingly oblivious to the gradually growing noise. "She gave me my name," she says suddenly, words tumbling out in a messy heap.

 _Yes_ , she hears then, a deep whisper in her ear.

"Your name?"

She closes her eyes and wills away the voices – the one beside her and the one increasing in volume from outside. "Supernova."

"Oh," Sam says. " _That_ name." He looks at her for a long moment, waiting to see if she goes on without prodding. When she doesn't, he asks, "You didn't remember that she gave you the name?"

 _It wasn't your name, it was mine!_

She jumps suddenly, leaping from the sofa and shuffling back into the coffee table. Her wide eyes are focused on the corner of the room, the spot where the enraged declaration came from. But there's no one there, nothing to see at all. She takes another jerky step backward and hears the clattering of her mug on the coffee table.

"Tess?" she hears Sam, feeling, at the same time, his warm hand on her shoulder. She turns and sees that he's up, standing right next to her with a worried look on his face. He ducks his head a bit. "You okay?"

Her breath is coming in quick, ragged gasps. "Uh huh," she issues out, incapable of words.

"Are you sure?" He slides his hand down from her shoulder, taking hold of her arm and pulling her slowly down onto the couch. Her eyes instinctively dart back behind her again, still looking for the owner of the voice. Still knowing that there's no one there.

"I'm sorry," she says after a long moment, firmly shutting her eyes and shaking her head. "Sorry."

He continues to sit beside her. There's an edge of concern to his energy, but it's overwhelmingly just… kindness… caring. She begins to feel a bit warmer with him by her side, and a bit calmer. "You want to tell me what just happened there?" he tries the moment she finally looks over at him.

"I hadn't thought about it in so long," she says, voice sounding weak and far off. "It was my name for so long." She smiles a bit, an odd mix of sadness and eager longing. "Everyone called me Nova. For so long."

Sam nods gently, encouraging her to go on without uttering a word.

"Until she died," she murmurs, the words so quiet even she can barely hear them. "Then I made them stop."

He looks at her with such… understanding. "Jean?" he asks simply. She nods. "How did she die?"

Tessa pulls in a sharp breath – _Go ahead. Tell him what you did._ – and she clamps her eyes firmly shut. Behind her lids, she sees Jean's face again, cracking and splitting, a deep red light emanating from the seams. Her eyes burn red. Then gold. Then white.

"Tess?" he calls out again, giving her elbow a bit of a squeeze.

Her eyes spring open, a sudden gasp leaving her. "I don't know," she rushes out, hurriedly standing. "I don't know. I don't remember."

Sam raises his palms in a gesture of surrender. "Okay," he says, voice sounding calm and collected. "That's okay."

She shakes her head vehemently. "No," she nearly cries out. "No, it's not."

Her phone sounds from the other room, Tony's ringtone. And all at once, she's brought back down to reality. "I have to…" she issues out, hurrying into the kitchen. She picks up the cell, still sounding a bit out of breath when she answers, "Hello?"

She listens to Tony prattle on in her ear – something about HR being on his back and her needing to go through resumes. She looks up and sees Sam lingering in the doorway patiently. But she quickly averts her eyes, choosing instead to focus on her boss. Focus on her work. Focus on anything other than remembering the moment that Jean's very being split before her. The moment that her friend's energy rushed into her, around her… all through her, bursting into every corner of her soul before slowly fizzling and fading away.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I know, I know... it's a slow build. Bear with me... please?


	41. Help Me

**Author's Note:** This is a long one, and a bit all over the place. But it should move things along a bit. We gotta get out of all this angst and back into some fluff, right?!

* * *

"You're making my head hurt," Tony whines dramatically, holding his head in his hands.

She stops her pacing and gives him an incredulous look. "You're not even doing anything!"

"Then why do I have to be here?" he asks in an exasperated tone.

"Because…" Tessa begins, stuttering. "You… you're… the boss."

He rises from the conference table and moves over to her, takes hold of her shoulders and looks her dead in the eye. "I trust you."

"But…" she sputters, suddenly at a loss.

"Do what you want," he tells her. "I'll sign off on it."

"But…"

"This is your baby. Just know that you'll be fired and thoroughly shamed if you screw anything up."

"But…"

"What is this? Why do you keep saying that?" He cranes his neck to find Bruce still seated at the table behind him. "Is she broken? Did we break her?"

"Not _we_ ," he responds, shaking his head. "Tony, she needs help."

"Yes," she barks out, eyes wide. " _Help_ me."

"She's never done this before," he goes on. "How's she supposed to know how to staff an entire complex?"

"Yes," she repeats, even more exasperated than before. " _How_?"

Tony scoffs, dropping his hands from her shoulders and waving one absently at Bruce. "That's why I brought him."

Banner's brow furrows. "I've never done anything like this before either."

"Alright, look," he starts, impatience clearly evident in both his voice and the sudden tapping of his foot. "I love all of these… people," he says, indicating the screen along the wall where dozens of resumes remain open. "They all seem great. So just pick the ones you like best, have Happy run the background checks, and bring them in. In the meantime…" He turns to face Bruce. "Dr. Helpful here will run things at the Avengers compound so you're free to tackle… this."

Bruce leaps up from his chair. "Whoa, wait a minute. Me? You want me to run things at the compound? What does that even mean?"

Tessa, visibly calming now that Tony's at least given her some sort of direction, looks to her boss. "I haven't chosen my replacement yet."

"Replacement? No," Tony says, shaking his head adamantly. "I told you, you're to remain the lead physician."

"In _name_ , you said," she corrects.

"This is perfect!" He looks to Bruce, then back to Tessa. "C'mon! We've got two talented, well-educated doctors already on the payroll. And the team trusts _both_ of you. So just… split the duties."

"Tony," Bruce breathes out, a warning and a chide all in one.

"You're the one who said she needs help."

"This isn't what I meant."

"Can you two work together?" he asks, voice filled with mock sincerity.

"Of course we can," Tessa replies.

"Do you _enjoy_ working together?"

"Sometimes," Bruce interjects, even as Tessa gives an enthusiastic nod.

Tony turns to Tessa. "Is there anyone you'd trust more to lead the medical department and lab in your absence?"

"Wait," Bruce nearly shouts. "The lab too?"

"You'd rather be in the lab than out doctoring superheroes anyway," he tosses over his shoulder before looking back to Tessa.

A smile slowly takes over her face. "There is no one I would trust more," she says, turning her eyes to the beleaguered man to her right.

"Oh, come on," Bruce complains with a groan. "You're… you can't…" He throws up his hands in frustration. "You're manipulating me!"

"Yes," Tony agrees. "That's generally how I do business." He reaches down and sweeps his phone up off the table, glances at it quickly, and turns to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me, a matter of extreme importance has come up."

"Hey," Tessa whines. "I know that's just an excuse. That won't work –" But he doesn't even hear her final words, the door slamming shut following his hurried exit. Slowly, she turns back to Bruce, pathetic-looking frown on her face. His expression is nearly identical. "Well," she starts with a rather defeated sigh, "I guess we could switch gears here and I could tell you about my plans for the Avengers facilities. I mean, if you actually are willing to help…"

His expression softens. "Of course I am. I just don't like Tony… being Tony."

She drops into the chair at the head of the table and begins shutting down windows on the screen in front of them. "I don't think he knows how to be anyone else," she mutters absently.

"Fair enough," he says, lowering himself back down into his seat.

Without looking up from her current task, she begins. "Claire – my assistant – is actually really eager to get back to the city. She's been renting a place halfway between here and there since the move." Glancing up, she gives him a sly look. "Her boyfriend lives in Queens and I think she's about to force him into an engagement."

"Sounds about as consensual as this arrangement we currently find ourselves in," he quips bitterly.

She shrugs and turns back to the resumes on the screen. "Anyway, until we get everything fully up and running at the tower, she'll still be at the compound. Anything you need, she can do. _Anything._ She's pretty much the most important person in my life."

"I'll be sure to let Barnes know you said that."

"He knows," she utters with a dismissive wave of her hand. "What about this guy?" she asks suddenly, indicating one of the resumes.

Bruce pivots in his chair to look at the screen. "He seems kind of… old."

"I'm pretty sure you could get fired for even mentioning age in a hiring discussion."

"Good."

She bites her lip and squints up at the picture of the man on the screen. "I think I trust older people more. Is that weird?"

"With the youth of today?" He gives her a sincere look, peering over the top of his glasses. "No."

She leans back in her seat and sucks in a hesitant breath. "Yeah. About that." He shoots her a frown. "Max Sellers has been pretty much running the lab in my stead… keeping things moving when I'm not around."

"And he's… young?"

She nods. "And kind of a dick. But he's smart. He's got a lot of potential." She faces the screen once more, flits through some more resumes. "He's a terrible communicator, so you'll need to check in with him all the time. And when you do, he'll bitch about being micromanaged." She spares him a quick glance. "But if you don't, he'll complain that you're ignoring him, asking too much of him, and making him burn out."

"Sounds like a real keeper."

"I hate him," she states simply. "But I trust him. Oh, and you'll also have to continually light a fire under him. Target dates are not his thing. Neither is, you know, working hard."

"So he's lazy."

"Yes. But if you say that to his face, he'll get his feelings hurt and take a personal day."

"I'm very confused as to why he's running the lab."

She raises her brows in thought. "Honestly, he's kind of a genius. And when he's working on something he's excited about, he is 100% invested. He's kind of like a young Tony Stark," she ends with a grin.

Bruce pulls in a deep breath. "God help me."

000

"Hey, gorgeous," Bucky greets from the couch the minute she steps through the door.

"Gorgeous?" She lumbers over and collapses into the cushions beside him. "And to think, I didn't even shower today."

She wiggles her way forward until her head is resting on his thigh. "You make it work," he says, lazily trailing his hand up and down her back.

"What are you reading?" she asks, trying to peak at the book in his lap without actually having to move her head.

He absently flips the book around to read the title off the jacket. " _Howl at the Moon: The Unauthorized Biography of WWII's Howling Commandoes_."

She cringes. "That's a terrible title."

"Fitting, for a terrible book."

"They get anything right?"

"Not yet." He folds over the corner of the page before closing the book and tossing it onto the coffee table. "You hungry?" he asks, glancing down at Tessa.

Before she can answer, her cell rings. With a groan, she twists herself around and pulls the phone from her back pocket. She looks at the caller ID and frowns before tossing it onto the table alongside his book.

"Did you just refuse a call?" he asks with a smirk. She says nothing, merely lets out a long, pained yawn. "Claire came by looking for you."

She furrows her brow. "Really? I told her I was going to be in the city all day."

"Not according to her," he says, shifting around and placing a pillow beneath Tessa's head as he slowly rises from the couch. "She said you didn't answer when she called either. I told her you were probably in a meeting."

"Yeah," she says absently. Then, quickly sitting upright, "I could've sworn I told her."

"Frozen pizza?" he calls out from the kitchen.

Ignoring him, she picks her phone up off the coffee table. "I don't remember her calling." She opens the screen and flips through the missed calls. Just one – _Storm 8:44 PM_. As she holds the phone in her hand, the tone signaling a new voicemail rings out.

 _Listen_.

She pulls in a deep breath and shuts her eyes, wills the nebulous voice to go away.

 _Listen!_

Her eyes shoot open and without a moment's hesitation she sweeps her thumb across the screen – Delete.

"Hey," Bucky's voice breaks in from beside her. "You okay?" he asks, his face filled with concern.

"Yeah," she issues out, a bit breathless.

"I was talking to you."

"Yeah," she repeats, shaking her head distractedly. "Pizza's fine."

He continues to stare at her for a long moment, studying her face. "I was asking about your day," he explains slowly. "You didn't hear me?"

She sighs and looks up at him with a tired smile. "No, sorry." She tosses the phone back onto the table. "How was _your_ day? How's it going with the new recruits?"

His expression shifts just a bit, the worry lines evening out as he says, "I hate them all."

"Shocking."

"Who was the call from?" he asks, eying her phone. It's clear from his tone that he suspects the call has something to do with her strange, sudden mood shift.

She sighs. "No one." He cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

 _Why lie?_ She stiffens at the words, her head slowly turning to the left to look for the source. _Why are you lying to him?_ The words filter into her ear as though being whispered by someone sitting by her side.

She rises from the couch, her eyes wide as she frantically scopes the spot where she'd been sitting.

"What?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

She says nothing as she begins to back away, blindly stumbling into the coffee table and slamming her calf into the corner.

" _Jesus_ ," he lets out as he catches her before she falls. "What's wrong?"

 _Why lie?_

"Nothing," she issues out quickly, righting herself in his arms. He's looking at her with a mixture of fright and concern. She turns away, glancing behind her once more. "Nothing… sorry." She can hear her breath coming out in too rapid bursts.

 _Breathe, dammit!_

She startles at the new voice, shouting in her ear. Flinches hard enough to slam into his side.

"Baby," he says, taking hold of her upper arm. But she can barely hear him over the odd steady whooshing building in her ears.

 _You've got this. C'mon!_ The voice is so familiar. She knows it, she's sure. And she's certain she could place it if she could just… think.

 _Why are you lying to everyone?_ Her eyes widen at the onset of a new voice filtering in through the growing hiss in her ears. _Why are you hiding?_

 _What are you hiding?_

"Tessa!" Bucky nearly shouts, giving her a firm shake when she doesn't respond to his continued calls.

 _You've got this. Just breathe, dammit._

She closes her eyes tightly and tries to will it all away. The rushing sound of water filling her ears. The voices breaking in through the din. "Stop, stop, stop," she begins to mutter.

 _Look behind the wall. What's behind the wall?_

"Stop it!" she screams, shoving Bucky away, her hands connecting hard with his chest, hard enough for him to actually stumble back a few steps. She looks up at him, takes in his shocked expression. "Just… stop," she says, looking into his eyes.

She takes a wobbly step forward. Then another, pushing past him and edging down the hall to their bedroom. She drops down onto the bed, letting her head fall into her hands as the deafening whoosh in her ears causes the room to spin and swirl around her.

 _You know what must be done_ , she hears as a steady pounding fills her head. _You're the only one who can do it._

000

She's able – mostly – to convince Bucky that's it's just a migraine. A _really, really_ bad migraine. "I'm sorry I acted so weird," she tells him weakly, laying beside him in the dark room. "I'm sorry I shouted at you." She winces at the stabbing pain. "Sometimes it just makes me a little…"

"Shhh," he soothes, delicately tracing his metal thumb across her forehead. "Don't talk," he barely whispers as he stops the caress between her eyes and applies just enough pressure to mitigate the pain.

He lays there with her for nearly an hour, gently kneading until she finally drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

When she wakes the next morning, it's with a light murmuring in her ear. _You can't hide forever_ , it says.

"I can try," she speaks aloud, her voice echoing through the empty room.

She goes on with her day. She chooses some resumes and gives them to Claire to have her set up the interviews. She goes over the final plans for the lab and offices at the tower and signs off on them with Pepper by her side. She even goes to her favorite coffee shop in the city and gets a mocha as a treat, as a reward for making it through the day without losing her shit.

Even the ride home is a success. She drives far faster than she should, several times looking down at the speedometer and noting a speed of over 100 mph. But the sound of whooshing air blowing past her helps to keep the voices at bay. And focusing on the road ahead, making sure the bike hugs all of the curves just right, keeps her from thinking about… well, anything else.

She knows what she needs to do. When she charges into Wanda's room that evening, she knows exactly what she's about to ask of the young woman.

What she doesn't know is quite what to say when she sees her friend leaning her head on Vision's shoulder as the two sit hip to hip on the edge of her bed. "Oh, shit, sorry," she issues out hurriedly, her hand still on the door. "I knocked. I just…"

"Didn't wait for me to answer?" Wanda supplies, standing and moving quickly away from the android, who remains seated on her bed.

Tessa works to hide a smile. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Oh, no," Vision says. "It's quite alright. Wanda and I were simply… enjoying one another's company."

"Vision," Wanda growls from the corner.

He looks to her, takes in her stern _keep quiet_ stare, then turns to Tessa and observes her crooked grin. "Yes, well," he says, rising from the bed. "I should be going."

"You don't have to go," Tessa tells him. "I just thought…" She glances over at Wanda. The impish expression beginning to fade from her face, quickly getting replaced by an unreadable, almost haunted look. "I can come back."

"Dr. Sullivan," Vision begins, taking a step closer to her. "You look a bit pale."

She waves him off with a slight laugh. "I'm fine."

"Vision," Wanda speaks up from behind, "I'll come find you later." She walks over and, as he strides out of her room – actually using the door this time – she slowly shuts the door behind him. "Something's wrong," she states, turning to Tessa with an inquiring brow.

She sighs, her eyes dropping down to her feet to avoid the knowing gaze. "I need you to do something for me," she says, still not looking up. "I need you to… get inside my head."

Wanda lets out a small gasp. "Why?" When Tessa doesn't respond and refuses to look at her, she takes the woman's hands in hers. "Your hands are so cold," she murmurs absently, staring down at her icy fingers.

Tessa nods. "There's something wrong with me."

The two women are very nearly the same height, so the moment they look up, their level eyes lock together. "You haven't spoken to me at all," Wanda says sadly. "Not since your accident."

She shakes her head and lets out a small, bitter laugh. "It wasn't an accident."

"You know what I mean."

Tessa gives her hands a firm squeeze before wiggling from her grasp and moving over to sit in the window seat across the room. She gazes out at the setting sun. "I was scared you'd know."

"Know what?"

"That's there's something wrong with me," she says, raising a brow and turning to face her.

Wanda steps closer and lowers herself onto the corner of the bed. She frowns a bit before saying, "You seem… lost." She holds out her hand and waits for Tessa to take it, which she does, albeit hesitantly. "And frightened?" She closes her eyes and slowly caresses the back of her hand with her thumb as she reads her energy. "You're confused."

"I already know what I _feel_ , Wanda." She shifts closer, moving to the edge of the seat and leaning in so that they're no more than a foot apart. "I need you to go deeper."

Wanda's eyes open and her forehead creases with concern. "I don't understand."

She takes in a sharp breath, her body visibly tensing. "I know you can… disturb reality. And build a new and different reality. It's what you did to us when we first met, right?"

"Yes, but… Why would you want me to –"

"Just go inside my head… or do whatever you have to do… and… and… build something new. To block out the voices." She looks up at her and pleads, "Please, Wanda. I need this."

"I don't understand," she says, shaking her head slowly. "Voices?"

Tessa rises quickly, dropping Wanda's hand, and begins to pace. "I feel like I'm… I think I'm being… I don't know. Haunted?" She turns to face her friend. "It's like… when I died… I…" She flails her arms, helplessly searching for words.

"Tessa, what _voices_?"

She moves to Wanda's side and takes a seat next to her on the bed. "You know I can… absorb people's energy?" Wanda nods, a bit taken aback by her friend's odd demeanor. "Well, I've never really told anyone this… anyone here, I mean. But… that doesn't really go away."

"What do you mean?"

"It fades," she says, eyes wide. "It definitely fades. It's not as though I actively _feel_ everyone inside of me all of the time."

"Inside of you?"

"Energy is like… essence. It's…" Again, she struggles to find the words.

"Like the soul?" Wanda offers. Then, a bewildered look taking over her face, "You absorb… souls?"

She smiles sadly at her. "Yes. That's it. Or… well, no, but… that's close to it, at least."

"And every time you do it…"

"It's like a piece of that person stays with me." She looks up at her, her green eyes dark and clouded. "I can usually bury it. Deep. I think that… I think something _broke_ in me," she says, her voice cracking at the end. "I think I'm broken, and I can't keep them down anymore."

Wanda shakes her head. "Don't say that. I'm looking right at you," she says with a small, hopeful smile. "You're _not_ broken."

"It's like they're all bubbling up to the surface, and I can hear them. _All the time_." Tears begin to prickle behind Tessa's eyes, and for once she doesn't even bother to try and fight them off. "Maybe they're trying to tell me something." She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Maybe we can find out?" Wands suggests gently, encouragingly. "Maybe we can –"

"No," she says, her voice deep with desperation. "No. I need them gone. I need you to make them stop," she says slowly, the words coming out in a frantic, pained plea.

Wanda reaches up and carefully swipes away a tear from her friend's face. "I'll do what I can," she tells her, wrapping her arms around her as her body begins to tremble with silent sobs.

Tessa leans into her, grasping at her desperately as she mutters, "You're the only one who can do it."


	42. Girls' Night

**Seriously... Let's just have some fun...**

* * *

She's on the verge of falling fast asleep, her vision blurring, head bobbing as she sits in front of her computer. It's only been a few days since they finished up the first round of interviews, but Tony has been breathing down her neck all week to, as he put it, "make a damn decision already." And today, for some unknown reason, he's decided to hang out at the compound. Which makes it almost impossible to escape him.

Thankfully, every apartment has a privacy feature built in that prohibits certain people from entering. Everyone – with the exception of Vision – programmed theirs when they first moved in to keep out the same individual… Tony.

So Tessa chose to hide at home all day, desperate to get some actual work done. But the utter quiet of home – the soothing comfort, the lack of irritating interruptions – had been making it nearly impossible to do anything other than sleep. "I work too much," she mumbled to herself that morning after doing some jumping jacks to wake herself up. "I trained myself to think of home as nothing more than a place to sleep." She frowned at the thought.

But at least she was _finally_ sleeping again. Whatever Wanda did was working. It took several tries, the voices resisting and re-entering her mind for the first few weeks. But eventually, the volume dropped, tone lightened, and words drifted off into nothing.

The dreams got better too. She hadn't had a true nightmare in over a week, and the way things had been for the last several months, that seemed like a miracle in and of itself. Occasionally she did still see Jean in her dreams, peering in from the corners. Or the Professor, his voice sounding foggy and just out of reach. Sometimes she relived hazy memories that she could barely recall upon waking. But all in all, she felt about a million times better.

And the absolute _best_ part about it – other than the fact that she no longer felt like she was actually, truly losing her mind – was that Bucky was begrudgingly convinced that Sam was responsible.

Obviously she hadn't told him that she had asked Wanda to throw up some sort of mind block… he'd likely lose his shit. And truthfully, she wouldn't have blamed him. It wasn't that long ago that he had wanted Wanda to get inside his head and block out all of his _bad_. And Tessa was among the strongest opponents to that half-assed plan. But this was different. For one thing, no matter how much Sam or anyone else talked about post-traumatic stress, she _knew_ this wasn't something that could be fixed by twice-a-week therapy sessions. For another thing, she needed a quick solution. They'd already begun construction at the Seattle labs. She _needed_ to get to work.

 _Oh, yeah_ , she thinks suddenly, jolting herself awake. _Work_.

But before she can she even finish shaking out her arms, the door flies open and suddenly her apartment is flooded with women. "What's going on?" she asks hesitantly, slowly pushing away from the desk in the corner of the room.

Natasha steps up and levels her with an assessing stare before saying, "You need to shower."

Tessa frowns and looks down at herself. She's wearing old, pilled leggings and a light, maybe slightly torn sweatshirt. But she's not _dirty_. "Rude."

"Natasha has decided that we're going out tonight," Wanda explains as she leans on the arm of the couch. It still amazes Tessa that this woman, who spent much of her life in an orphanage, holds so tightly to the rules of social etiquette that she won't even sit down in someone's home until invited to do so. Did they teach her that at the orphanage? If so, Sokovia had a very different way of raising orphans than the US. Because the children's home she was in didn't give a damn about manners or proper _anything_.

"Why?" She asks, looking at Wanda and then quirking her eyes to the couch, indicating that she should sit.

It's Maria Hill who answers next, stepping out from behind Natasha and frowning at the mess of files and papers littering the living room. "Because you're all trapped up here in this weird, high-tech prison with nothing to do but train and…" She cocks her head at Tessa's computer screen. "Whatever the hell it is _you_ do all day." Then, with a dramatic huff, "It makes me feel sorry for you. So I'm taking my ladies into the city."

"I was just in the city yesterday," Tessa tells her, dryly.

Natasha waves a dismissive hand. "That was work. This is fun. Besides," she says, approaching her and getting just close enough that Tessa can hear the conspiratorial whisper, "Hill just spent the better part of a week holed up with Tony in the tower. And she doesn't have any friends."

"You must know that I can hear you," the former agent complains from across the room. "That wasn't even a real whisper. How are you a spy?"

Natasha snickers under her breath, refusing to acknowledge the woman behind her. "Come on," she says, grabbing Tessa by the wrist and hauling her up out of the chair. "It'll be fun."

"I've never really been out in New York City," Wanda chimes in with a shy smile.

"But I have work to do," Tessa whines, reaching dramatically for her computer as Natasha continues to drag her away.

"Nope. No more work. We're going out." She continues to pull her friend along, grabbing onto Wanda's arm as they pass the sofa. "Come on," she tells them both, moving down the hall towards the bedroom. "You two are basically the same size, right?" She turns and looks at the two women – one smiling brightly, ready and willing to have a great night, the other frowning miserably as she shuffles into her bedroom. "Ugh," she says, dropping Tessa's wrist. "You're pathetic."

"You're a terrible guest," she mumbles, frown changing to a scowl.

Natasha raises her hand and points toward the bathroom. "Go. Shower. We'll be out here raiding your closet." She throws open the doors to the giant walk-in and begins making a _tsk, tsk_ as she surveys the clothes. "I know for a fact there are things in here from when she was still in her twenties," she tells Wanda. "Back when she was actually fun."

"Hey," Tessa shoots out from the doorway to the bathroom. "Not cool."

"Nope," she says, sliding hangers as she rummages through the closet. "But I'll do what I can to dig out the cool chick you used to be."

000

An hour later and they're no closer to making any real decisions. Maria became annoyed with their antics about five minutes in and took off, leaving the other three to their own devices. As a result, the floor is now littered with shoes and accessories, and there are multiple piles of clothes on the bed – one for _Wanda maybes_ , one for _Tessa maybes_ , one for _Natasha says yes even though neither of them want their asses hanging out in public_ , one for _not tonight thank you_ , and one for _send to Goodwill_.

"Add to the burn pile," Nat says as she tosses a pleated red skirt into the Goodwill section. Tessa grabs it back and hurriedly shoves it under a pillow while Natasha's not looking.

"How did you even get all of these clothes?" Wanda asks with wonder, her voice distant as she sorts through things at the back of the closet.

"I told you," Natasha supplies. "She _used_ to be fun."

Tessa grabs a couple more items from the Goodwill pile and looks around for somewhere to stash them, quickly tossing them over across the bed when Natasha swings around to face her. The redhead gives her a _really?_ glare before turning back to the closet.

"I was sad and lonely," she says with a put-on frown. "I filled the void with shopping."

Wanda peeks her head out. "That's so depressing," she utters sincerely.

Nat just scoffs. "It bullshit. Half of this stuff we bought together."

"Yes, and the other half was bought when I was sad and lonely. Oooo," she exclaims suddenly. "That! Gimme!" She reaches out and grabs a black cocktail dress from Natasha's hands.

"That's Prada," she says admiringly. "I remember when you bought that."

She nods. "I was my first really big, really stupid purchase after I got that first really big, really stupid paycheck from Stark Industries." She holds the dress up to herself and looks down at it.

"I'd stay away from Prada tonight," Nat tells her. "I think Hill wants to hit up some seedier spots. No telling what might get spilled on that."

"Fair enough," she says, handing the dress to Wanda so she can hang back up.

"What is going on in here?" The three women turn in unison to find Bucky standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the mess they've created.

Wanda ducks shyly behind the closet door as Natasha tells him, "We're going out," before shrugging and turning back to the closet.

His eyes travel over the felled shoes, the piles of silk and sequins and lace. "Is that supposed to explain why it looks like the closet threw up all over my bed?"

Tessa smiles wide as she kicks an errant heel out of the way and reaches down to dig a dress out of her pile. "What do you think about this?" she asks Bucky, holding the shimmering navy mini-dress up to her.

The T-shirt she's wearing covers more of her thighs than the dress. "Do you actually own that?" he asks, brow furrowing in concern. "I've never seen that."

Nat turns to him and raises a single eyebrow. "But you'd like to see it on her now, wouldn't you?"

"I don't have many nice clothes," Wanda says to him, sneaking out from the closet. "So Tessa said she'd let me borrow something. Sorry we've made such a mess."

He glances at the young woman in the closet, then back at Tessa, who's staring at him expectantly. He lets out a pained sigh and finally turn to Natasha, who really seems to be the ringmaster of this circus. "Why can't everyone just borrow something of yours?" he asks. "So you can trash your own apartment instead of mine." He leans down and starts picking up shoes, searching for their mates as he goes.

Tessa scoffs, still holding the dress up in front of her. "You _wish_ I could fit into her clothes."

He stops what he's doing and looks up at her, arms laden with heels. "What does that mean?"

She gives him a _come on, man_ look and says, "Those boobs. That ass? Please."

Natasha moves over to Tessa and grabs the navy dress out of her hands, replacing it with an even shorter red lycra number. "You have an amazing ass," she tells her. "And he obviously prefers your boobs. Which, you should too. These damn things always get in the way."

Bucky stands stark still, a single shoe falling unnoticed from the mound in his arms. "Is that a joke?" he asks, eyes trained on the red dress.

"Halloween costume, actually," Tessa replies, flinging it onto the bed.

He stares at the piles of clothes for a long, annoyed minute. "Okay," he says finally, shaking his head and dropping the shoes into a corner. "I can't be in here."

Tessa begins rummaging through the _Natasha says yes_ pile in the hopes of finding something she may have judged too harshly the first time around. "Probably for the best," she mutters, casually flinging fabric across the bed as Bucky sneaks out of the room.

"This," Natasha exclaims suddenly, pulling out a black silk jumpsuit. She holds it up for inspection as she pivots toward Tessa. "How do you have this and I've never seen it?"

She turns to the woman and shrugs. "See that deep V?" She points to the plunging neckline. "I had to tape it on. Silk and tape do not go well together." She sighs and shakes her head. "I didn't even realize my boob was out until I dripped cocktail sauce on it."

Wanda stares, horrified. Natasha breaks into a laugh so unlike the normally restrained super spy that it makes the other women jolt in surprise. "Where were you? Tell me it was a first date," she pleads.

Tessa shakes her head. "New Year's 2014."

"That's fucking amazing." She turns to Wanda and thrusts the jumpsuit into her hands. "Go try this on," she demands.

The young woman simply gapes at her. "Didn't you just hear what she said?"

"Yeah, but you've got more to… keep it in place," she tells her with a wink.

It takes them the better part of ten minutes to convince her just to try it on – by then, Tessa's been in and out of about five different dresses. But as it turns out, Natasha's right. Wanda more than pulls off the jumpsuit. Her legs look about a mile long, her waist is _tiny_. And even though she's not 100% sure about the amount of cleavage she's got going on, she can't help the small smile that blooms on her face when she looks in the mirror.

The other women are quick to tell her just how _hot_ she looks. "Seriously," Tessa affirms before shouting out into the hall, "James, come here."

Wanda continues to gaze at herself in the mirror from all angles, a worried look gradually taking over her face. "I don't know."

When Bucky appears in the doorway – arms folded stoically over his chest – it's with a rather alarmed-looking Steve by his side. "You weren't kidding," Steve says as he surveys the mess.

Tessa shimmies over to them and turns. "Zip, please," she says as she pulls her hair out of the way. "And Tell Wanda how sexy she looks."

"Tessa!" the girl exclaims, her cheeks burning red in embarrassment as she quickly steps away from the mirror, backing into a corner of the room.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna tell her that," he says as he gives the zipper a quick tug.

"I think you look very nice, Wanda," Steve offers diplomatically.

Bucky glances over at the young woman and raises a brow. "That's yours?"

"Yeah," Tessa answers plainly as she turns around to face him. "I had a boob-out incident and haven't worn it since. But it looks great on her, right?"

He doesn't answer, his eyes going wide as he takes in her attire. His gaze travels slowly down her body and his eyebrows quirk up approvingly. The black fabric of the mini dress clings to every curve. And the large lace cutouts that run down each side from sleeve to hem show just enough flesh for him to see that she's not wearing a bra.

For a brief moment he forgets that there are others in the room with them, and his face splits into a crooked smile. "You like?" she asks coyly, deciding just from the look on his face that this is the one.

He reaches out and trails his hand down her side, fingers sliding delicately over the lace. He stops when he gets just below her hip and his smile shifts into a frown. "You're not wearing any underwear," he says, laying his hand flat against her upper thigh.

She wiggles her eyebrows at him.

"Okay, we're done here," Natasha says suddenly, stepping over felled clothes and shoes as she heads for the door. "Hair and makeup at my place."

Wanda tries to follow her. "But," she says, tripping over a heel and falling into Steve. He catches her quickly and pulls her upright, her face burning bright the moment his hands move to her waist to settle her back on the floor. "Um," she clears her throat and regains her footing. "Shouldn't we clean this up?"

"The boys can handle it," Nat says from the hall.

That gets Bucky's attention. "What? Wait," he stammers, spinning around and following her to the living room. "You can't just come over and trash the place and then leave."

"Of course I can," she tells him simply. "Watch."

The moment she pulls the door open, he thrusts it shut, pinning it closed as he glares down at her and seethes. "No," comes out of him in a growl.

Natasha just stares at him, entirely unimpressed. "Yes," she counters.

"Guys, relax." They each turn their gaze to Steve, but neither move. She remains poised at the door, hand on the knob, and he continues to lean his weight into it to keep her from leaving. Steve's expression shifts from amused to irritated as he lets out long exhale. "Stand down," he orders. Then, "Now," when neither seem to listen.

Slowly, Natasha drops her hand from the knob and she leans in. "I'm going to take your girlfriend out for a much needed girls' night," she tells Bucky in a low voice. "You can thank me by not being an asshole."

He rolls his eyes dramatically and shifts his jaw enough that it audibly clicks. But he drops his hand from the door all the same, stepping back to let the women through. "I'm blocking you from this apartment," he tells her pointedly as she swings the door open so that Wanda can escape the all-too uncomfortable situation.

"Sure," she deadpans, looking past Steve and making eye contact with Tessa. "You coming?"

She nods. "In a minute." Natasha gives her a tight nod and heads out. The second the door shuts, Tessa turns to Steve, who's still staring ahead with a disappointed look on his face. "It's working with the new recruits," she tells him, conspiratorially. "Being around that many former agents makes him irritable."

"Yeah," Steve nods, his face relaxing into a sly smile. "I know."

"I'm not irritable," Bucky groans. "I just don't like… everything that just happened." He drags a hand down his face exhaustedly before turning to Tessa. "Please put on some underwear."

Steve visibly tenses beside her and takes the smallest of steps away.

"I can't do that," she says with a shake of the head. "It would ruin the lines of the dress." She holds her arms out in front of herself and utters excitedly, "But look… long sleeves!"

"Fabric on your arms doesn't make up for a naked ass," he tells her with a quirked brow.

At that, Steve starts slowly backing up, moving toward the bedroom. "I'm gonna go ahead and start cleaning up," he says, an awkward note to his voice.

She turns. "You don't have to do that. I'll take care of it."

"No," Bucky says, stepping forward and dropping his palm on her shoulder. " _You_ are going to go have fun with your friends."

She looks up at him. "Oh you misunderstand. I'm not going to clean it up _now_. Yeah, I'm definitely going to go out and have some fun." He smiles and shakes his head at her. "Just leave it and I'll get to it when I get back."

"Mm-hmm," he mutters, dropping his forehead to hers. "At 3 AM?"

"You think we'll be back that early?"

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" he asks in an amused tone.

"Just shove everything onto the floor."

He steps away from her and sighs. "Doll," he breathes out, "I think you know me well enough to know that I could never do that."

She scoffs. "Neat _freak_."

"Keep that dress pulled down," he tells her as she heads for the door. "Everything underneath there," he says, gesturing down at her, "belongs to _me_."

"Great," she says with a roll of the eyes. "Then you can start taking it all to the gynecologist."

He laughs despite himself. "Be glad Steve didn't hear that. He might never recover." He leans over and holds the door open for her. "Also… what is a _boob-out incident_?" he asks, cocking his head curiously.

"Play your cards right and maybe I'll show you later."

He shakes his head and chuckles again. "Be good," he tells her, leaning in the doorway.

She winks at him as she steps out into the hallway. "I'll be sure to keep everything on lockdown for you."

"You better," he says with a serious expression and a beaming light in his eyes.


	43. A Bad Bet

"Okay," Maria says, returning to the table with another round of shots. "Here's the deal…"

"No," Wanda protests over the deafening beat of the club music. "No deal." She grimaces as she shakes her head. "No more shots."

Natasha merely pushes hers away without a word.

"Maybe I'm just old as fuck," Maria nearly shouts. "But I can't take this place anymore." She glances around the packed club with disdain. "I got my dance on for a while, got a couple of free drinks… these shots are from the nice young man at the bar, by the way."

Tessa snorts out a laugh before downing her shot and reaching over for Wanda's. "That the same _nice young man_ who grabbed your ass a minute ago?" she asks with a quirked brow.

She nods. "One and the same."

"Bet he felt so bad about objectifying you like that," Natasha intones, "that he just had to make it up to you."

"That's right," she says, throwing back Nat's shot.

She scoffs indignantly. "We could see the vice grip you had on his balls from here, Hill."

"I didn't say he felt _guilty_. But when I gave his balls a good twist, he definitely felt _bad_." She glances over her shoulder at the man and gives him a delicate smile as she waves.

"I like your style," Tessa tells her, slamming the final empty shot glass down onto the table.

Maria looks at her appraisingly. "Doc, you like scotch, right?" she asks, already rising from the table.

"If it gets her drunk, she likes it," Natasha shouts, the music around them somehow rising in volume.

"I know a place," Maria says. "Let's get the hell out of this den of depravity."

The bar they go to next is a little hole in the wall a few blocks from the tower. It's small and dingy. Every table wobbles and is covered in rings, and there isn't a single matching barstool in the joint. "This is… not what I expected," Natasha says, frowning as the group chooses a table in the corner.

"What? I like this place. It reminds me of home," Maria tells her with a pout.

"I just figured you'd hang out somewhere… classier."

"Oh, yeah," Tessa chimes in. "Somewhere with cigars, and expensive scotch, and _really, really_ old men."

Nat turns to her. "What you're describing is an old fashioned gentlemen's club. And yes," she looks to Maria, "that is more what I expected."

She scoffs loudly, hand coming to her heart in a gesture of offence. "It's like you people don't know me at all."

"Strange," Natasha mutters, "considering you're normally so open with us."

Maria merely lets out an irritated huff and takes hold of the redhead's elbow. "Come on Widow, let's go get some drinks," she says, dragging her over to the beat-up bar.

"I feel like I may need a tetanus shot just from sitting here," Tessa mumbles absently, gaze flitting around the room. When her eyes settle on the woman beside her, she begins to frown. "What?"

Wanda looks away, dropping her assessing stare the minute Tessa glances at her. "Nothing," she says, completely unconvincing. "Just… I haven't heard from you in a few days." She looks over her shoulder to make sure that the other two aren't within earshot before asking, "How are things going?"

Tessa sighs, long and laborious. "It's fine. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

She gives a quick shrug. "Voices are gone. That's the most important thing."

"That's what you were worried about, right?" she asks with a slightly furrowed brow.

"Yeah, definitely. Mostly."

"There's that _mostly_ again," she intones with a sly grin. Tessa smiles back, but begins to shift uncomfortably. When Wanda glances down, she sees that her friend has her sleeves pulled down over her hands, her fingers barely visible. "You know," she starts, continuing to stare as Tessa grips the fabric tighter, "it is about 85 degrees outside right now."

Immediately Tessa stops tugging at her sleeves, opting instead to drop her hands down and sit on them. She glares over at Wanda as if to say, _there, happy now?_

"The voices are gone… that's better. What's not better?" Wanda asks, her tone suddenly serious.

Tessa shakes her head and looks over to the bar. Natasha is leaning on the countertop rather precariously, only her tiptoes remaining on the floor, as she charms the bartender. Maria is simply standing beside her with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a coy smile on her face. She turns back to Wanda. "I still feel them."

"Their energy?" she asks simply.

Tessa shrugs. "I don't really know what it is. I just know that…" She inhales deeply through her nose before going on. "I don't feel like I'm losing my mind right now. At least not any more so than usual," she quips. "But I don't feel like… Whatever this is…" She shakes her head again and lets out another exasperated sigh. "I just don't feel like it's over. Or fixed. Or entirely better."

Wanda ducks her head a bit. "I'm sorry," she says shyly.

"Oh, no," she quickly issues out, reaching across the table and laying her hand on Wanda's arm. "No, it isn't you. You did exactly what I asked you to do. And it worked. And I feel _so_ much better." She peers down and connects eyes with the young woman. "Really," she tells her. "I can work. I can focus."

"What about sleep?" she inquires. "Can you sleep?"

Tessa nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sleeping much better."

"Because the dreams were a big problem too, right?"

"Yeah," she barks out, eyes flitting about the room once again.

"And they're gone also?"

Tessa's mouth gapes open as she thinks about how to answer that. They're not _gone_. But they're… gone enough? She looks over at Wanda and sees the concerned crinkle of her forehead. But before she can issue a reply, a giant pitcher of beer is slammed down onto the table in front of them. She frowns down at it, grateful for its interruption, but perplexed by its contents. "I thought you wanted Scotch?"

"Well," Maria says, sidling into a seat, "Romanov flirted her way into free beer. And I have better Scotch at home anyway."

Natasha takes the seat on the other side of Tessa as she begins pouring and dispersing drinks. "I haven't paid for a single drink in my entire life," she states. "I'm not going to start now." She looks over at Wanda and then back at Tessa, notes a hint of tension in the air. "So… what were you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Tessa breathes out nonchalantly before picking up the glass and chugging nearly half of it down. "You've really _never_ bought a drink?"

She shrugs, taking a delicate sip of her beer.

"Doc," Maria interrupts, looking over at her. "You're a pretty big drinker." She offers it up as a statement, almost a compliment. Then, with a crooked grin, she asks, "How do you feel about a little game?"

"A drinking game?" she asks, a bit incredulously. "You want to play a drinking game?"

"Bad idea," Nat chimes in.

Tessa wrinkles her brow in confusion. "What would we even do, take a drink every time one of us sees a rat run by?" She widens her eyes comically, glancing off into the corner as she brings the glass to her mouth. "We'd dry this place up within the hour."

"Ha ha," Maria mocks.

Wanda takes a small sip of her beer, her eyes darting around the room frantically in search of rodents. "That was a joke, right? Did you actually see something? Maybe we should go."

"There aren't any rats," Maria balks. "At least no more than at your typical New York establishment."

Natasha narrows her eyes at her. "You say that like you know the city well. Where did you say you're from again?"

"I didn't," she deadpans.

"Maybe that should be the game," Wanda pipes up, a huge smile on her face. "I want to know how you grew up," she says, beaming at Maria. "I want to know all about your childhood and your family and where you spend your holidays. All of the things that you refuse to tell us."

"Yeah, Hill. Let's do this the old-fashioned way. Drink until you can drink no more. First one to pass out or puke loses… and has to share her life story."

"I take it you're not playing, then?" Maria challenges.

"I can play if you want, but I think you already know that I'll cheat." Natasha offers up a self-satisfied smirk. "One way or another, I always win."

Wanda pushes her beer aside. "I think I'm done for tonight. And besides, you already know my life story."

Maria scoffs and turns to Tessa. "Guess it's just you and me, Doc," she says. "And I _would_ like to hear all about this _Supernova_."

The somewhat amused expression immediately drops from Tessa's face. "No," she says simply.

"But," the other woman begins to whine. "Then I'm not telling _you_ anything."

"Whatever happened to just betting with money?" Natasha mutters, slowly sipping at her beer.

Maria shakes her head – "This was your idea!" – and looks away in thought. "I wouldn't mind that bike of yours, though" she says to Tessa after a long minute.

"Over my dead body."

Nat nudges Maria with her elbow and leans in to whisper, "Steve still thinks that's gonna happen anyway. You might have a chance at it even without winning here."

Maria pouts again. "Then… something embarrassing. That's always fun."

Tessa cocks her head at her. "I don't embarrass easily."

"Streaking?" she suggests.

"What are you, 12? You want to go make prank calls later and TP the neighbors?"

"Fine," she repeats, the word filled with irritation. "Then…" She looks over at Tessa and smiles wickedly. "Tattoos," she says, drawing the word out as her eyes narrow in intrigue. "Winner picks the tattoo that the loser has to get."

Wanda drops her head and shakes it sadly. "Please don't do that."

Ignoring her, Tessa asks, "Loser picks the spot?"

Maria shrugs. "Sure. And nothing _huge_ ," she adds. "I still need to look respectable."

Tessa's brow wrinkles in thought as she takes another drink. "And whoever… doesn't get alcohol poisoning wins?" she asks.

Maria shrugs. "Basically. Yes."

"Can I crash at your place in the tower?"

"Sure. I guess," she replies in annoyance. "Are you in or out? I'm starting to lose my buzz here."

Tessa slowly nods, considering the terms, before extending her hand. Maria's face splits with a wide, almost terrifying grin as she reaches over and shakes, earning a simple short gasp from Wanda. "Shall we begin?" she asks, tipping her glass to her lips.

000

As it turns out, Maria Hill can hold her liquor almost as well as a super soldier. By the end of the night, she's pretty tipsy, sure. But she's still standing. Tessa, on the other hand, inadvertently puked directly into her beer around midnight.

They roll into the tattoo parlor just before 1 AM, Tessa arguing with the man behind the counter that she's fine and of sound mind, and she would know if she wasn't dammit, because she's a doctor. _A doctor_ , she repeats every time he gives her a disbelieving look. _I'm a doctor_.

He finally waves them through, not really giving a damn as long she signs the consent. It's once they sit down with the artist that Tessa realizes – even through the drunken haze – that she's been hustled. Maria immediately pulls out her phone and scrolls through just a few different images for the tattoo artist, Natasha and Wanda both giggling behind her.

"You have something picked out?" she asks with a pout. "When…"

Maria drops her hand on her shoulder, holding her phone close to her chest to prevent Tessa from seeing. "Oh Doc, I knew what I'd pick the moment _tattoo_ popped into my head." She shakes her head with mock sorrow. "You never had a chance."

Tessa just looks at her, mouth agape for a long moment. Finally, as her beleaguered brain catches up, she pinches her lips together and juts out her chin defiantly. "Know what," she begins, sitting up on her knees in the chair. "I don't even care." She hikes her dress up to her waist, baring everything she expressly promised Bucky she'd keep locked down, and leans over with her ass high in the air. "Left cheek, please."

000

True to her word, Maria lets everyone stay at her apartment in the tower that night. Tessa passes out in the Uber on the way back, but the others stay up 'til almost sunrise, splitting a couple bottles of wine and sharing old war stories. Well, Hill and Romanov do anyway, each trying to top the other with tales of counter-espionage and international intrigue. Wanda just sits and listens, completely enthralled.

But once it hits noon, Maria kicks everyone awake and orders them out. She has things to do, she tells them without any further explanation.

Pepper, who had met up with them all for a quick drink before dinner the night before – _I'd love to do a girls' night when I can actually hang with you for more than a half hour_ – has a car take them back to the compound. It's a wonderful gesture, made even better by the champagne she had the car stocked with.

Tessa doesn't drink any champagne. She sleeps most of the way, an ice bucket by her side, just in case.

"You need help upstairs?" Natasha asks as she gently shakes her awake once they arrive back home. Tessa simply glares at her for a long moment before shoving the car door open and puking out into the grass. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

She shakes her head and stands upright on shaky legs. "No. No, I'm good."

"You don't look good," Wanda says with a frown. "You look _terrible_."

"We all look terrible, Wanda," Natasha mutters, glancing around at everyone still in their clothes from last night, hair disheveled and makeup a mess. She turns to Tessa who's steadying herself in the doorway. "You sure you're gonna make it?"

She waves her off – "Fifteen more hours of sleep, that's what I need." – and heads for the elevator. It takes her a moment to remember what floor she lives on, but once she finally presses the button, from there it's a piece of cake. Afterall, her apartment is almost directly in front of the elevator, so it's not like she can get _too_ lost.

"Wow," Bucky drawls out the moment she tumbles through the door. His lips quirk into a crooked smile. "Rough night?"

He's reading on the couch, looking more relaxed than she's seen him in weeks… since the new recruits arrived. She almost trips over her own two feet as she stumbles for the couch and dives headfirst into the cushions alongside him. "Yes," she mumbles into his hip as she buries her face.

"Natasha texted and said you passed out around three," he mutters, setting his book down and looking over at the heap of a person beside him. "Maybe by the time you're 40 you'll figure out how to drink without getting shitfaced?"

She shakes her head, harshly rubbing her face into the couch cushions. "I doubt it."

He chuckles lightly. Then, "Shower and bed," he says, patting her ass in a _get moving_ gesture. He's about to get up as well, but stops short when her body tenses and a startled hiccup of an _ow!_ comes out of her. "What?"

She rolls over onto her side and looks up at him with an alarmed expression. "Oh no," she says, hand flying down to her bottom. "Oh God," she moans, twisting into his side and hiding her face once more. "No, no, no."

"What?" he tries again, reaching down to take hold of the hem of her dress. She quickly bats his hand away, not wanting him to catch a glimpse of what lies beneath. "What did you do?" he asks, his voice carrying an almost admonishing, parental… very _Steve-like_ vibe.

 _Steve._ "Oh, no," she continues to mumble.

He grasps her shoulders and slowly peels her up off the couch so that she's kneeling on the cushions next to him. He locks onto her eyes and raises his brows. "What happened, doll?"

She gives him a weak smile that almost immediately crumples. "I did something… not smart," she says, tone measured, but anything but calm.

"Okay," he intones, an invitation for her to continue.

Her gaze shifts down. "I got a tattoo." For a long moment, there's silence so thick it makes her wince. She's about to say something else. Anything else, just to fill that void. But the moment her mouth opens, she feels bile rise up her throat and threaten to spill out. She throws her hand over her mouth and leaps up from the couch, racing into the hall bath. Vomit pours out from between her fingers just as she flings open the toilet lid and bends over.

He's there in a heartbeat, gently taking the filthy hand that she holds out as she continues to wretch. He wets down a washcloth and uses it to clean off her fingers, then her face once she finishes turning inside out and exhaustedly, pathetically turns to face him. He kneels down beside her and reaches around to flush the toilet.

"A tattoo, huh?" he asks once the water stops running. She doesn't even pick her head up off the toilet seat to nod, and the sheer piteousness of it all has him biting back a teasing a smile and nearly choking on a laugh. He reaches out and tucks some hair behind her ear, tugging out a small chunk of what he really hopes isn't dried vomit as he does so. "Can I see it?"

"No," she gripes, still not removing herself from the toilet.

He wrinkles his nose for a moment before standing up. "You need a shower," he says, looming over her. All she does is let out a miserable groan. He sighs, long and loud, before reaching down and hoisting her up by the arms. Turning her around so that she's positioned in front of him, leaning her back into his chest, he marches her down the hall, through their bedroom, and into their bathroom.

"You cleaned up," she mutters, craning her head around to see the spotless bedroom as he sets her down on the closed toilet.

He doesn't respond, just leans into the shower to turn it on and begins to undress down to his boxers. She watches him carefully, following his every move with wide doe eyes. He looks down at her and he's honestly not sure if he's ever seen a frown that pitiful on anyone, ever. "How bad is it, doll?" he asks with just a hint of a chuckle.

"Don't be mad," she says, her voice almost a whisper. Then, all at once, the words pour out of her. "I made a bet and I lost and I drank too much to make good decisions and I pulled up my dress and Maria got to pick it and… you're not gonna like it."

He cocks a brow at her. "You pulled up your dress?" She nods slowly. He sighs again. "Come here," he says, helping her up and then reaching around to unzip the back of her dress. She makes no attempt to move once he unzips her, so he reaches up and peels the dark fabric off her shoulders, tugging her arms out of the sleeves. It isn't until his fingers wrap around the bottom hem that her fingers move down to try and stop him. "I'm gonna see eventually," he tells her as he bats her away and pulls the dress down.

She hesitantly steps out of it and turns so he can see the still raw artwork. "I didn't pick it," she tells him again as her fingers close around the lip of the bathroom counter in a death grip.

He looks down and sees that almost her entire left butt cheek is covered in red, white, and blue, the colors twisting into an orbit with a star at the center. It's Captain America's shield. It's fucking _Captain America's shield_.

It's angled a bit, made to look as though it'd been flying. And there are angry cracks drawn into her flesh, like her skin is a stone wall that had been broken apart. It's Captain America's shield. And it's made to look like it was thrown… and _embedded in her ass_.

He hears the howl of laughter echo through the room before he even realizes that it's left his body. He actually doubles over, unable to breathe. He's pretty sure he's never laughed like this… ever, not in his entire life. It's almost like an out of body experience. He has no control over his body, not over the raucous sound emanating from it, not over the painful way his chest seizes with each guffaw, not over the tears that begin to stream down his face.

By the time he looks up and sees his naked and very angry looking girl facing him, silently seething, he realizes that he has no idea how long he's been standing there laughing and crying like a lunatic… in his underwear… with the hot shower steaming up the room around them. But it must've been a while, because almost his entire body hurts from laughing so… damn… hard.

"Are you done?" she asks, trying to look quite serious, but failing as her wrecked body begins to teeter to the side.

He reaches out to steady her with his metal hand, his right going to wipe his face clean of tears. "There's a shield in your ass," he says, barely able to get the words out. He spins her around so he can look at it again. "How did it get there?" he asks, the barely stifled laughter coming out of him like little girl giggles.

She shakes him off and moves into the shower, almost slamming into the wall as she steps in. "I hate you."

He follows her, fully aware even through the teary haze and uncontrollable amusement, that she's barely capable of keeping herself upright on her own. He pulls in a deep breath as he takes hold of her shoulders and steadies her beneath the streaming water. "Was he throwing it at your ass? Or did you just get in the way?" he asks, his voice starting to come together again.

She leans into him, resting her back against his chest. "Please shut up," she begs.

He reaches around her to get a handful of shampoo and begins working it into her hair. "Steve usually has pretty good aim," he hums.

She tilts her head forward into the running water. "Stop."

He pours some of her body wash onto a shower poof and places it in her hand. She lazily runs it over her body, the scent of vanilla taking over the room as the rich lather spills off of her. "I'm just surprised is all," he says, standing behind her at the ready in case she slips.

"Why?" she mumbles, voice almost indiscernible over the running water. "Aren't you always telling him that _you're_ the one who never misses?"


	44. He Would Never Leave You

It was supposed to be a simple op, simple by their standards, anyway. They'd gotten a request from the Mexican government – all very hush, hush, of course – to take down the drug lord who ran the cartel they tangled with last year. Things had gone so smoothly during their hostage rescue that the Secretary of Defense hoped the Avengers could be the ones to finally end the tyranny of this particular criminal.

It wasn't exactly what the Avengers typically do, but – Steve had argued – this was the perfect sort of mission to give the new recruits some real-world experience. So he put together a team, pairing each of the veteran team members with one of the newbies they'd been training for the past six weeks. And they set out on what everyone thought was going to be little more than an intensive training run.

In the end, Steve blamed himself, as he usually does. "They weren't ready," he told Natasha on the jet as they raced home.

She shook her head, small droplets of blood, flying carelessly through the cockpit from the ends of her hair. "No Steve. _They_ were ready. Abrams just froze."

Josh Abrams, former SHIELD agent. At just 26, he was one of the younger recruits. He'd only gotten the chance to be with SHIELD for a few years, joining right after college. With a degree in criminology and another in psychology, he had the basic educational background most government agencies were looking for. He was smart and capable, an excellent athlete – Football star in high school and all-American sprinter in college, and he spoke four languages. On paper, he seemed good. In person, he was great.

Bucky had told Steve that he was worried about the kid's lack of field experience. Most of the other men and women had either been in the military or law enforcement. They'd seen action, in one way or another. Abrams was unproven. But Steve saw something in him, so he brought him aboard. "And if you're so worried about how he'll be in the field," he told Bucky, "then I want _you_ to be the one to toughen him up."

Truth was, Bucky actually liked the guy. Like Steve, he saw something in him, a sort of quiet strength and a desire to do what's right. It didn't take him long to realize that the reason both he and Steve liked him so much was that he reminded them of a plucky little kid from Brooklyn who went on to become one the Earth's mightiest heroes.

But all the super soldier serum in the world – if there was any more left in the world – couldn't help that kid. Not after today.

Steve doesn't change out of his uniform before heading out in search of Tessa, doesn't bother to clean himself up at all. He honestly doesn't even think about it, his mind really only on one thing – get her so he can get back to Bucky. He's just glad that she happens to be at the compound today and not in the city.

He finds her in her office, leaning back in her chair with her arm draped lazily over her eyes while a man with a slight accent drones on through the speakerphone. He knocks gently on the partially open door and sees the rapid change in her demeanor when she looks over at him – going from startled, to curious, to terrified in a matter of seconds. But despite the fear and apprehension in her eyes, her voice is completely calm when she says, "Dr. Hammond, I'm so sorry to have to do this, but something's just come up. I'm going to have to reschedule the rest of our interview. I'll have my assistant call you back shortly."

The man on the phone explains that it's no problem at all and then launches into a story about a time when someone else rescheduled him. She hangs up on him mid-sentence. And nearly jumps out of her chair.

"He's okay," Steve issues out quickly, throwing up his hands to still her as she rounds the desk. "Or… he will be."

Her eyes are wide as she gazes down at his chest and arms, both of which are soaked through with blood. "Where is he?"

"In medical," he replies, looking down at his uniform and internally chiding himself for coming to her looking like this.

She pulls in a sharp breath. "Is he conscious?" she asks, knowing damn well that James Buchanan Barnes would never _willingly_ go to the medical floor. Maybe if Steve dragged him there and then stood watch over him to keep him from leaving… _maybe_ then. But otherwise, no.

Steve shakes his head. "But he will be okay," he says slowly, punctuating each word.

She scoffs loudly as she shoves past him and runs for the elevator. "What happened?" she asks him as soon as he catches up. There's an odd sort of calmness to her voice that Steve finds both admirable and unsettling. She's pounding on the elevator button like a madwoman and rocking back and forth on her heels like an impatient, agitated child. But somehow she's able to mask everything she's feeling in her voice.

He sighs and they step into the elevator. "They were on the ground – Buck and Abrams, and Natasha and Wilczeski. And things got… a little crazy." He runs a tired hand down his face. "I don't know for sure. I still have to sit down with Abrams to get the whole story. But he was shot."

She turns to him, her face screwed up in confusion. "James?"

"Yes," he says, looking down at her. "Abrams isn't injured. Nat took a pretty good beating getting to them. And Wilczeski…" he inhales deeply, throwing his head back and gazing hard at the ceiling. "Wilczeski's in pretty bad shape," he says as the elevator doors open.

"How bad?" she tosses over her shoulder, striding determinedly out onto the medical floor.

He follows hot on her heels as she twists through the corridors, knowing exactly where to go. "I… I don't know," he tells her.

She stops short, just outside the corridor leading to the trauma bay, and turns around to face him. "And James?" she asks, her tone, for the first time sounding strained.

He lowers his hand onto her shoulder and connects his bright blue eyes with her deep green ones. "He was hit in the chest. A couple of times. They had armor-piercing rounds." He feels her muscles tighten beneath his fingers. "But he's alive," he says with a nod. "He's alive."

Her eyes flit away for a brief moment and he can see the worry and fear all but disappear from them, being replaced by a sort of fierceness as she steels herself to go into the corridor. They enter the rarely used trauma sector, Tessa walking with confidence as she seeks out someone to give her a report. But no one's around… everyone is far too busy attending to patients. She pushes open the door to one of the trauma rooms and skids to a halt.

" _Jesus_ ," issues out from behind her as Steve takes in all of the blood puddled on the floor.

The room is empty, tracks in the blood remain from a gurney being moved out. Empty bags of plasma litter the floor beside the crash cart, which still has drawers hanging ajar. "What a mess," Tessa mutters with annoyance. And Steve can't help but gape at her. She turns to him, her face devoid of emotion. "Is this where he was?"

He nods.

She turns to march back out, her toe catching some slick blood on the way, causing her to slip and slam into Steve's broad chest. He catches her, of course, but releases her quickly when she shudders and shoves him away. His breath hitches when he looks over at her and sees her staring with wide, horrified eyes at the blood that's now smeared on her naked forearms. Glancing down, he can see where it was inadvertently wiped from his uniform.

"They took him to surgery." Both Steve and Tessa jolt at the intrusion. They each look over to find Clint standing just outside the door, watching them with something akin to pity. He points a finger up to indicate the floor above them with the surgical suites that Tessa designed herself. "Dr. Mattingly's operating. I told her I'd let you know." His eyes dart momentarily to the blood on her arms, but he quickly corrects, looking her in the eye and smiling softly. "I also told her I'd keep you out."

"Good luck," Steve mutters under his breath as he moves into the hallway and leans heavily against the wall.

"Where's Bruce?" Tessa asks pointedly.

Clint releases a long-held breath. "With Nat. She's good," he reassures quickly. "Just getting some stitches."

She begins rocking on her heels again. "We still have the functional replica of the cradle," she says, her eyes scanning the hall. "It can only target dermis and epidermis cells, so if there's any subcutaneous involvement, that'll still need to get stitched up. But we can take care of any scarring." Steve gazes over at her. He's not sure if he's relieved or irritated by her impassive demeanor. "Bruce should know how to work it, but I can help him set it up."

Clint reaches over and lays his palm on her shoulder. "She only says she hates scars. Really, she likes how tough they make her look," he says with a wink.

She looks at him assessingly. "You weren't hurt?"

"Nah," he says, giving her a quick squeeze. "Stayed out of the fray. This time."

She nods. "Do you know what happened?"

He cocks his head at her curiously, then looks over at Steve. "You didn't tell her?"

"I told her what I know," he replies without looking up.

Clint lets out a long sigh. "I wasn't there," he tells her sadly. "Sorry."

Steve jerks his head up suddenly. "How's Wilczeski?" he asks, almost ashamed that it took him so long to remember.

He looks to Tessa, brow furrowed. "Who's the other doctor? The new one… older guy?"

"Jessup," she offers. "Dr. Jessup."

He nods – "Yeah." – and looks back up at Steve. "He's doing what he can for now. Said he'll need Mattingly to operate. I guess they decided Barnes was worse off."

"Did he seem worse off?" she asks, an edge to her voice. "You saw him, right?"

He pulls in a deep breath. "Doc – "

"You brought him all the way back here?" Her brows knit together either in confusion or anger… or maybe both. "Did you stabilize him on the jet?" She turns to Steve. "You said he was shot in the chest."

"We had the Tier 1 medical team with us," he says almost defensively. "Juarez was with us."

"Juarez is a field medic," she nearly shouts. "He never would've made the call to bring him all the way back here. Not if he was – "

He looks her dead in the eye. "We couldn't get him treatment in Mexico. No one could know we were there."

She takes a cautious step back. "No one could know you were there," she repeats, a hint of disgust to her voice.

"Dr. Mattingly said to come back here. She said that this facility is the best. State of the art." He looks at her pleadingly. " _You_ put together the best place for him."

She points an angry finger at Steve and hisses out, "I want to know _exactly_ what happened." And she shoves past him, moving back down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"To help Dr. Jessup," she tosses over her shoulder before disappearing from view.

000

They manage to keep Wilczeski alive long enough to get him into surgery. From there it's all in Dr. Mattingly's hands. Tessa promises herself that she'll check in on him later. Afterall she is still the department head. These people are still her patients, her responsibility. But truth be told, the moment she hears that Bucky's out of the OR, she finds it nearly impossible to care about the stranger struggling before her.

"His injuries were quite severe," Dr. Mattingly tells her. "Quite frankly – and we're not out of the woods yet – but I'd say it's a miracle he's still alive."

 _He has incredible healing abilities._ This is what she tells herself – over and over again – as Mattingly explains the damage that was done.

"We had to open his chest."

 _He's got super soldier serum flowing through his veins._

"There was a small tear in the pericardium. We were able to repair it."

 _Strength. That's what I've always felt in him. Pure strength._

"Anyone else would've died for sure."

She carries those final words with her when she tiptoes into his room. Steve is already there, seated by his side, his head in his hands. He looks up at her when she enters, but says nothing.

He's on a ventilator. _Collapsed lung_ , she remembers hearing. And he is so, so pale. She moves to the side of the bed opposite Steve and delicately runs her fingers along the back of Bucky's metal hand.

"He's gonna be okay," she hears Steve say, almost a whimper. She looks over to see him nodding his head absently. "He'll be fine."

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Her hand wraps around the cold metal fingers as her eyes slowly move over his too-still face. Even in his sleep, he tends to frown or twitch or mumble. She's never seen his face this still, this… lifeless.

 _We're not out of the woods yet_. She hears the words sound in circles in her head. "He could've died," she says finally, her voice deep and firm. "He still could."

In her periphery, she sees Steve shake his head adamantly. "No," he issues out. "No. He's been through worse than this."

She tears her eyes away from Bucky's face, blinks once, twice, and focuses on the man across from her. "I honestly don't know about Wilczeski," she says with a sigh. "I just… don't know."

He nods, a sad acknowledgment.

"Did you talk to Abrams?" she asks, her eyes trained on Steve even as her thumb rubs deep lines into the metal knuckles buried in her grip. "Did you find out what happened?"

He lets out a long, exhausted sounding breath. His eyes flit over to Bucky's still form briefly before bouncing back to Tessa. He gazes at her assessingly for a moment, takes in the staunch tilt of her jaw, the austere countenance. "Tessa," he says, shaking his head. "Does it really matter right now?"

Her eyes widen. "Are you shitting me?" she hisses out. "I told you. I want to know what happened."

He leans back in his chair. "Yeah, well, I can't tell you anything until after the official debrief."

"Bullshit!"

He glowers at her and very nearly growls, "Calm down."

"Who fucked up, Steve?" she asks, her voice getting shaky and rising in pitch. "You said he was out with Abrams… so he was supposed to have his back?"

"Can we please not do this right now?" he begs, running a tired hand over his face. "Can we not do this _here_?" he asks, cocking his head to indicate the prone man between them.

"Who fucked up?" she asks again, heatedly. She takes a sharp inhale and reflexively tenses her hand around Bucky's. "Who fucked up?" she repeats, the words coming out strangled as tears begin to burn at the back of her throat.

He watches her carefully, holding her eyes with his own steadfastly as both sets start to cloud over with a sheen of unshed tears. Her face burns bright with righteous anger, but the shaky breath she struggles to pull in, the sudden torrent of wetness that begins to coat her cheeks, shows a different emotion altogether.

When he refuses to answer her, she parts her lips and tries to speak, tries to ask the same damn question. _Who fucked up? What happened? How did we get here?_ But she's lost the ability to make words, it seems, and all that comes out of those parted lips is an odd sort of squeak.

There's another squeak then, that of the chair on the tile floor as Steve pushes back from Bucky's bed and rises to cross over to her.

Everything is blurry and hot. The tears are burning in her eyes. Her cheeks are on fire. Even the cool metal that she's so desperately clutching feels molten in her grasp.

"He's gonna be fine," she hears from behind, a soft whisper in her ear.

She clamps her gaping mouth shut, having given up on speaking, and nods. A single, definitive nod.

Steve wraps his arms around her and squeezes her tightly. "I promise," he tells her, his words ringing with resolve.

She leans back into him and lets her bleary gaze fall back down to Bucky's face… partially obscured by the ventilator tube, nearly unrecognizable in it's pallor, it's impassive appearance. "How… how do you know?" she chokes out.

He reaches down and places his hand over hers, over Bucky's. "Because," he says simply. "He would never leave you."


	45. The Ring

He's out for just over 72 hours. Off the ventilator inside of a day, but still lingering in an uncertain sort of limbo for three damn days.

"You need to sleep," Steve tells her every few hours or so during that uncertain period.

"So do you," she shoots across the room to the small sofa he'd chosen to occupy.

He grins – a gloomy, tired smile that only barely reaches his eyes. "Yeah, but not as much as you. I'm a super soldier, remember?"

She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the pale hand resting in hers. "How could I forget," she mumbles to herself before reaching over to the table to collect her ever-present coffee.

Eventually, someone would wander in, hands laden with food for the two _stubborn_ _idiots_ – as Tony had put it – who refused to take even the slightest break from their vigil. Sam and Clint would aim for lighthearted small talk and jokes, desperately trying to improve the grave mood. Natasha would roll her eyes and tell them they shouldn't be wasting their energy keeping watch over someone they all knew was going to recover anyway – _no chance we'd be lucky enough to get rid of him that easily_.

Bruce was the only good distraction, it seemed. He'd fall into shop talk and inevitably pull Tessa into a discussion about work that would keep her engrossed for hours. For Steve this meant that he'd finally get to sit by Bucky's bedside – a spot he'd freely given up to his best friend's girl – and talk to him for a bit.

But at some point, the visitors would taper off and the two would be left alone to carry on their vigil in that too-silent room, alternately fighting sleep and falling prey to it. On this, the third night, Tessa is the first to give in, curling up on the sofa that Steve typically occupies and dropping into a deep, drooling sleep within minutes. It's not long after that Bucky finally begins to stir.

"Hey," Steve breathes out, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey, pal," a deep whisper directed at his friend the moment their eyes meet.

Bucky's brows knit together in an anxious sort of confusion as he quickly glances around the room. "What the hell," he croaks out, shifting uncomfortably. The instant he twists his upper body, a sharp pain digs into the center of his chest, his right hand moving to clutch over his heart.

Steve jumps up from his chair beside the bed and places his hands on Bucky's shoulders, gently stilling him. "Don't do that," he chides, a cloud of concern crossing over his face. "You're not healed yet."

Bucky leans his head back and blinks rapidly as he works to overcome the pain. His mouth opens to speak, but it takes a good long minute before he finds the strength to let out anything other than a pained sort of grunt. "I got shot," he mutters finally, his voice raw and raspy. He closes his eyes tightly, less from the pain and more so against the weakness that his voice – and the pace of his breathing – belies. "Damn," he ekes out simply.

Steve lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that's one way to sum it up."

He opens a single eye, squinting against the harsh light of the hospital room, and peers over at his friend. "It was bad?" he asks curiously.

Steve reaches over him to flip off the light above the bed, making it just comfortable enough that Bucky's able to slowly blink both eyes open. He looks at him with that same sort of sad, guilty, resigned smile that he's seen so many times before. "It was bad," he tells him. "Almost lost you… a couple times." His eyes drift down to where Bucky continues to clutch at his hospital gown. "Dr. Mattingly did surgery. She had to open up your chest."

He straightens his hand and lightly pats at the thick gauze dressing over his breastbone. He lets out a deep sigh, his eyes falling closed for a long moment. "Damn," he repeats. Not much else to say.

"How do you feel?" Steve asks him, tone serious despite the relieved smirk pulling at his lips.

"Like I got shot and had my chest ripped open."

"Oh, good," he intones. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't feeling anything… strange."

Bucky's eyebrow quirks up just before he lazily opens his eyes again and looks directly at Steve's shit-eating grin. "Punk," he breathes out.

"Seriously, though," he says, choking back a laugh. "Are you in pain?"

He curls his lip almost defiantly. "S'not that bad." And he tries to shift again in the bed, this time slower. He barely moves an inch before feebly settling back into the pillows. He turns his head a bit and juts his chin out to indicate the figure behind Steve, curled into a tight ball on the sofa. "How long has she been out?" he asks, his tone tender.

Steve swivels around to look at Tessa. "About an hour." He turns back to Bucky. "I should wake her."

"Why the hell would you do that?" he asks in an almost threatening tone.

"Because you've been unconscious for three days," Steve says condescendingly. "And I'm scared of what she might do to me if I let her sleep through this."

"Three days?" His face twists with bewilderment. "How the hell…"

"I told you," he says with a shrug, "it was bad."

Steve goes over to the sofa and lightly jostles Tessa, his hand warm on her arm as she shudders. Slowly, she looks over her shoulder, turning her sleepy gaze on him for just a fraction of a second before blinking and focusing on the exhausted-looking man watching her from the bed. "He's awake," Steve says softly.

She pulls in a deep breath and rolls back into the curled-up position, rubs at her eyes with balled up fists before rising, achingly slowly. She sits on the couch for a long moment before locking onto Bucky's soft gray eyes. "Jerk," she quips, just the slightest hint of a smile on her lips.

He reaches out for her and frowns pitifully. "I think I need a doctor," he says with a wink.

She huffs out a deep breath and turns her attention to Steve. "Did you tell Dr. Mattingly?" she asks with a quick yawn.

"No. But I will," he replies, extending his hand to help her up. She stares at it for a moment, seemingly lost in the fog of near sleep. He quirks a soft, comforting smile at her. "I told you he'd be okay." Then she pulls herself up of the couch and falls into him, wrapping her arms around his middle in a tight embrace that he quickly returns.

"Should I be jealous?" Bucky asks weakly, causing Steve to drop the hug and hold his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. It takes another moment for Tessa to unfurl from around him, but once she does, he slowly backs out of the room, hands still raised, quite pleased with his silly show when he sees the amused smirk on Tessa's face.

She turns to Bucky and stares at him for a long moment. "He's getting your doctor," she says simply.

"You're the only doctor I need," he returns with the same exaggerated frown. She raises her eyebrows in his direction, clearly showing her lack of amusement. He sighs deeply and reaches out again, wiggles his fingers at her. "Come here," he says, his voice low, no longer joking.

She moves over slowly, almost hesitantly. The dull expression on her face is unreadable as she takes his hand and brings it up to her lips. "You scared me," she tells him, laying a quick kiss on his fingers. "You didn't fully stabilize until late last night. Even then…" She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. "You took your sweet-ass time waking up."

He catches her eyes the moment she opens them and offers a sad, knowing smile. "I'm sorry," he says simply, slipping his hand from her grasp and sliding it over to tenderly sweep his thumb across her sallow cheek. "I'm okay," he mutters, slowly moving his fingers back to cup the back of her head.

"You better be." She instinctively angles her head to the side as he slowly begins to knead her too-tense neck with his fingertips. But she doesn't allow him to do it for long, sighing before reaching up and grasping his hand in hers once more. "How do you feel?" she asks him, pulling his hand down the bed and cradling it there to prevent him from reaching up for her.

He shrugs, as much as his condition will allow. "I've been better."

"Yeah," she snorts out in a derisive sort of laugh.

He winds his fingers through hers, gently stroking her flesh, letting just the touch of her lend him some comfort. "How 'bout you?" he asks with a crooked smile.

"Me? Oh, I'm great. Never better."

Her sarcasm brings a smile to his lips, but it fades as he moves his eyes over her. He can tell from her disheveled clothes and the tangled knot of hair on her head that she hasn't changed or showered in days. And he can see from the way her shoulders slump and how she sways listlessly on her feet that her body is exhausted. He gazes at her long and hard. "I'm sorry, doll," he tells her, twisting his hand in her grip so that he can give her fingers a firm squeeze. He shakes his head with remorse as he thinks about what she must've gone through, sitting at his bedside for three days. "I'm sorry."

She lets out a small, biting laugh. "It sucks, huh?"

He frowns up at her. "Which part?"

"Making the person you love worry. Freaking them out so bad they look like…" She waves a hand up and down to indicate her body. "This."

He huffs out a quick laugh, immediately regretting it as his chests seizes in pain. He winces tightly. "It doesn't exactly feel good," he ekes out.

000

It's two more days until Dr. Mattingly finally agrees to release him, and even then it's only because she has every faith that Tessa wholeheartedly means it when she waves a pointed finger in his face and says to him, "You will not leave the apartment. You will not leave the _bed_ without my permission."

And damn if those words, and the demanding tone of her voice, don't set off a sort of burning deep down inside of Bucky's core. "Yes, ma'am," he tells her, his tone a little too suggestive for someone still lying in a hospital bed.

For her part, Dr. Mattingly simply leans over, looking quite unimpressed, and says, "No strenuous activity until you're completely healed, Sergeant. And remember," she adds, lightly elbowing Tessa in the side, "she's the one who has to clear you for duty. I'd suggest you not piss her off."

"I'm not sure that's possible," he intones as the doctor strides out of the room. He turns back to Tessa, takes in her stern glare. "I thought Bruce was taking things over around here?"

She shrugs. "I'm still the lead physician. My signature's still required on any and all documents clearing an Avenger or adjacent personnel for active duty."

He rolls his eyes dramatically before glancing behind her, over at Steve. "Sorry, pal. Looks like I'm never coming back to work."

He lets out a small laugh. "She's tough, but fair," he says. "You'll be cleared in no time." He takes a few steps closer and drops his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "In the meantime, just enjoy the break."

He grumbles incoherently for a moment before gazing up at Tessa with a shameless grin. "There's only one way I'm gonna _enjoy_ being confined to bed, you know?"

She pulls in a deep, calming breath and momentarily shuts her eyes to keep from rolling them. "Five days," she issues out. "Five days ago a woman had her hands _inside your chest_."

He shoots her a glowing smile. "Jealous?"

And she fights to keep from matching it with one of her own as she warns, "Jamie…"

"I love that you call him that," Steve chuckles as he watches the exchange. "I called him James once when we were kids and he gut punched me."

Bucky throws him a vicious glare. "And I'd do it again."

Tessa just shakes her head, amusement playing in the quirk of her lips, the slightest sparkle of her deep green eyes. "Boys are weird," she breathes out.

Bucky gives her a hand a quick squeeze. "Yeah, and women are so… normal."

She pulls her hand away and playfully slaps at him. "Think you two can keep from roughhousing if I take off for a bit?"

Steve quirks his head at her. "We're not twelve," he says with an impish grin that matches Bucky's almost perfectly.

Of course, when she glances back over at Bucky again, his smile is all but gone, having been replaced by a concerned frown. "You're not going to work, are you?"

She mimes his somber expression, frowning comically down at him. "Jealous?"

He raises his brows at her. "I just think that if I'm being forced to rest, you should be doing the same."

She lets out a harsh _psh_. "You're not resting. You're making me crazy." She leans down and lays a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth, pulling back quickly to prevent him from capturing her lips. He lets out a frustrated growl. "I have some stuff to take care of before you come home," she says with a wink before turning to leave.

"Like what?"

"Like stealing a shit ton of sedatives," she tosses over her shoulder on her way out the door.

Bucky turns to Steve. "You think those are for her or for me?"

He simply shrugs. "Anybody's guess."

000

The apartment feels oddly quiet and stale when she enters that morning, planning to tidy the place up a bit before Bucky comes home in the afternoon and tries to do it all himself. Knowing him, he'd probably stop to make the bed before climbing into it. She opens a window and breathes in the early autumn air. It's still warm out, but there's a crispness to the breeze that makes her feel somehow more alive than she's felt all week.

"Fresh air," she mumbles to herself in a _duh_ fashion before heading into the kitchen to scrub the dishes she'd left in the sink almost a week ago. The mission that Bucky had gone on was supposed to be in and out… 24 hours, tops. Yet somehow in that small span of time that he'd left her alone, she'd managed to nearly destroy the place.

Once the dishes are done – a bowl and fork actually tossed into the trash, so thick was the gunk on them – and the papers and files that she'd left strewn about are all piled neatly on her desk, she's able to move on to the bedroom. She cringes when she enters the dark room, heads over to crack that window open as well.

There's a pile of dirty clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed and the realization hits that she's going to have to do laundry for the first time in over a year. And make the bed. And – "Damnit." – for some reason, there are more dishes sitting on the table at her side of the bed. She frowns deeply. "I _am_ a slob," she admits to herself. And then, with a deep inhale, she sets to work.

There are still clothes in the dryer, so she warms them up while she makes the bed and scrubs a few more dishes, wipes down the countertops, and even digs around in the freezer to find something to make. _That's right, baby. I'm going to cook for you tonight_ , she thinks, with a self-satisfied smirk. She pulls out a couple of chicken breasts and throws them into the fridge to thaw, makes a mental note to look up some sort of recipe for a marinade or rub… or whatever the hell you do to chicken to make it taste not gross.

The dryer dings. She goes to fold the clothes, starting a new load before heading back into the bedroom to put everything away. They're mostly Bucky's, so she sets a few things aside to bring to him this afternoon when he's released, even though the thought of him bitterly walking the halls of the compound in a hospital robe and slippers makes her giggle like a little girl.

She pulls open the top drawer of his bureau to toss in his socks and finds herself rolling her eyes and shaking her head despondently at the ridiculously ordered contents. There's only one thing that looks even remotely out of place in the drawer, and it catches her eye almost immediately. There, nestled in between his perfectly paired and folded socks is a small burgundy velvet box.

She thinks nothing of inspecting it, the thought that this is his space and he might not want her to see what's in his sock drawer honestly never occurring to her as the curiosity overrides every other notion in her brain.

She pulls it out and pops it open, all the while thinking, _why would he buy me jewelry?_ Afterall, he himself had said "never again" after gifting her a beautiful pair of pearl earrings that she claimed to absolutely love… and then never once wore.

But this is… not earrings. She lets out a small, involuntary gasp as she gazes at the ring… the delicate gold band, the deep-green oval emerald at its center, the tiny but perfect diamonds dancing in a shimmering halo around it.

"Oh, fuck," she hears herself say in a far-off voice. Then – _snap_ – she slams the little box shut and buries back where it belongs, beneath perfectly folded socks in the perfectly organized drawer of the perfectly naïve man she loves so much it almost hurts. "Perfect," she mumbles to herself, pushing the drawer closed and backstepping until her calves run into the bed. She lowers herself slowly onto the edge of the bed, still staring at the firmly shut drawer in front of her. "Fucking perfect."


	46. Double Standard

"You really don't have to eat it," she tells him with a raised brow. "I can make you something else."

Bucky chokes down the overdone chicken and smiles over at her. "Like what? Toast? A bowl of cereal?"

She kicks him playfully under the table, "Ha ha," falling from her lips with disdain.

He cringes through his laughter as he spears another piece of chicken with his fork. "Hey, be careful. I'm injured, remember?"

"I didn't kick you in the _chest_." She gives him a sideways glare. "Though I might." He pops the chicken into his mouth with a far-too cheery grin. "Seriously, don't eat that," she says reaching out for his plate.

"It's good," he tells her with a full mouth. He gulps the bite down and immediately takes a huge swallow of water as she lifts his plate away. "A little dry…"

"Yeah, I know." Tessa goes into the kitchen and dumps their half-eaten meal in the trash, grabs a bag of cookies off the kitchen counter. "I can't cook," she says with a huff, returning to the table and dropping the sack in front of him before falling back into her chair. "Have a cookie."

He gives her a suspicious look, eyes bouncing back and forth between the bag and her weary face.

She's been oddly distant since they got back home a few hours ago. Not in proximity… if anything, she'd been practically hovering, checking in with him every few minutes or so as she paced throughout the apartment, making dinner, doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom. "Not that I'm not liking this new domestic side of you," he had teased at one point, trying to pull her down to the couch with him. "But I can think of better things your hands could be doing than folding laundry."

She hadn't even come back with a quip, instead just kissing his head and shoving off to do some more chores.

"What's up?" he asks, noting the way she's staring off into the distance. She lets out a long sigh, but says nothing in response. He reaches across the table to take her hand, wincing a bit as the sutures pull in his chest. "Hey," he says, waiting for her to turn to him. Her green eyes are dark and dull when she gazes over at him, and for a moment he fears they're back to where they were a couple of months ago, just after _her_ near-death experience. "What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks lightly, though the cloud of concern that rolls over his face is unmistakable.

She smiles at him crookedly, chides playfully, "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he asks with a frown.

"You think I don't know what your _I'm worried about you, doll_ face looks like?"

He huffs out a small chuckle. "I didn't realize the face had a name."

"It's pretty recognizable." She pulls her hand out of his and shoves the bag of cookies closer to him. "Seriously," she says, small smile dropping. "Your metabolism needs fuel to burn to keep the healing process going."

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a chocolate chip cookie, looks at it suspiciously. "Where did these even come from?"

She shrugs. "Sam brought them by."

He tips the bag her way – an offer – but she shakes her head no. "Okay," he says, setting the cookie onto the table. "Now I know something's wrong. You don't turn down sugar."

Her gaze is directed to her lap, where he's certain she's working her hands raw, pulling and twisting her fingers in that anxious way he's all too familiar with. He's about to reach out again, stitches be damned, when her eyes fly up to meet his. "When are you going to tell me what happened?"

He's a bit taken aback, both by the question and by the insistent, almost angry tone of her voice. "What do you mean?"

She raises her eyebrows incredulously at him. "What do I _mean_?"

"Are you talking about the mission?" he asks, confusion lacing his words. He shrugs a bit. "We ran into some trouble. It happens."

She turns fully in her chair to face him, resting her elbows on the table as she tiredly runs her hands over face before resting her chin atop her fingers. "James… I've seen you in the field. I've seen you train. I've heard stories about you during the war _and_ about your time with Hydra. I _know_ you. You don't just let trouble happen."

His expression tightens, jaw ticking as he simply stares at her from across the table.

"Nat got hurt," she begins again, voice rising. "You almost died. Wilczeski's never gonna be cleared for duty again. What the hell happened?"

"You don't need to worry about it," he tells her stiffly.

"That's not fair," she shoots out, rising quickly from the table. "If something happened to me, you'd want to know."

"That's different." She says nothing, but the glare she gives him is almost deafening in its accusation. "Fine," he relents, throwing up his hands. "Abrams got caught off guard and he froze. He needs more training."

"More training?" she asks, a bite to her voice. "I thought that everyone you and Steve brought on were already trained. Maybe not for this, but…"

"He's the most inexperienced. But he's got a lot of promise."

She cocks her head at him. "Inexperienced? How inexperienced? I mean, he's been in the field, right?"

Silence.

"James?"

Another tick of the jaw, fixed lips never parting.

Her eyes grow wide. "Are you shitting me?!"

He inhales deeply and leans back in his chair. "Babe – "

Her tone is painfully tight when she interrupts. "You took someone on a mission, paired up with him on an actual op, and he had _no_ field experience?"

"How's he going to get experience if we don't take him into the field?"

She drops her hands from her hips and stares at him with wild eyes. "How the hell did he get hired?!"

Bucky takes a calming breath, his muscles all clenching so tightly that his chest has begun to ache. "He's going to be good. I really believe that," he says slowly, looking up at her as she begins pacing in front of him. "You never know how someone's going to react the first time they see action. But now that he's been in it… the next time'll go better. I'm sure of it."

She stills suddenly and turns to face him, her expression stern. "I don't want you going out with him again."

"Tessa…"

"You go out there with someone who's capable of having your back, or you don't go at all."

He smiles crookedly at her. Despite the irritation gnawing at him at being told what to do – by a civilian, no less – he feels a warmth rise within him at the thought that she's so eager to keep him safe. "Did you just give me an ultimatum?"

"It's not a joke, James." He nods, amusement still playing on his face. "Would you let me into the field with some inexperienced, unproven… especially if he already let me down and almost got me killed?"

He shakes his head slowly and stands. "He didn't almost get me killed. He was _my_ responsibility, not the other way around."

"That's not how it works and you know it." She unconsciously takes a step back as he approaches her. "Answer the question. If it was me – "

"No," he says suddenly. "No, I wouldn't let you partner up again." He moves closer still and this time he catches her, laying both palms on her shoulders. "But I have to train him, teach him. It's my job."

She glares up at him. "What is your job, exactly? To just do whatever Steve says?"

"That's generally how it works between a Sergeant and his Captain, yeah."

"This isn't the military."

He drops his hands and backs away, anger and frustration now lacing his features. "What do you want me to say, huh? The kid made a mistake."

"Yeah, so he shouldn't be working here anymore."

"That's not fair."

"Bullshit it's not fair. You had Tony fire one of my people because he called me a name. This guy almost got you killed!"

"That's not how it happened. You don't know what happened!"

"Yeah, because you won't tell me!"

The apartment rings with sudden silence all around them, the tension making the air thick as both Tessa and Bucky fight to stand their ground.

"You want to read the report once it's done," he offers, voice low and tone calm, "fine. But I don't tell you how to do your job, so don't tell me how to do mine." And he moves down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the walls.

She remains standing, stewing, for just a fraction of a moment before she hightails it into the bedroom after him. "For the record," she starts as she throws open the door and slides into the room, "you _love_ to tell me how to do my job. I need to work less, disconnect more. Relax. Delegate. I should fire Max. I should give more to Bruce. I should make Tony help more with hiring. I should travel less." She pauses just long enough to catch her breath. "You told me not to go to Korea… practically _put your foot down_."

"Because I thought you were in danger," he counters. "And if I remember correctly, you still went to Korea!" He turns his back on her to dig through the bureau in search of a clean shirt.

"It's a fucking double standard and you know it!" She watches as he tosses a T-shirt onto the bed and angrily kicks off his shoes before making a move to peel off his henley. "Stop it," she groans, hurrying over to him. "You're gonna hurt yourself." She bats his fingers away from the bottom hem of the shirt and grabs it herself. "I told you to put on the button-down," she chides softly as she pulls the shirt up.

To his credit, Bucky lets her take over, gingerly raising his arms as best he can and bending over a bit so she can pull the shirt off of him. "I just wanted you to be safe," he says quietly, almost a whisper, as he stands half naked before her.

She doesn't say a word, just lets her fingertips dance delicately over the dressing covering his chest. Beneath, she knows that the skin is already mostly healed, though internally the mending is taking a bit longer. She stops her hand, palm resting over his breast bone, seeing in her mind's eye his rib cage being thrust apart. He places his hand over hers and she looks up at him, falling into his tender gaze. "I don't want you to get hurt," she says softly.

"I know." He grips her hand in his and brings it up to his lips, kisses each one of her fingertips. "I'm okay," he tells her, the same words he's been repeating to her for days. "And if I get hurt again, I'll heal then too. I promise." Her eyes fall shut as she shakes her head and he takes it as a refusal to believe him. "I'm pretty good at healing," he says with a crooked smile. "In case you haven't noticed.

"I noticed." She pulls her hand from his and carefully leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He brings his right hand up and runs his fingers through her hair as he holds her to him. "I don't like fighting with you."

She feels the words rumble out of him and into her very being. "I don't want you to get hurt," she repeats, murmuring into his skin.

"I know, baby," he soothes. "I'm sorry."

"No." She pulls away and looks up at him, meeting his eyes. "No… I mean…" He looks at her expectantly, waiting patiently. "I…" But she seems to be at a loss for words.

"You _what_?" he asks, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

Her mouth gapes open for a moment before finally uttering, "I did your laundry."

He barks out a quick, albeit confused, laugh. "Yeah, I saw that."

She lets out a long sigh, blinking slowly. "No, I… I put away your clothes… your socks."

"Okay," he says, still not understanding what she's getting at.

She locks eyes with him again and says, slowly, carefully, "I put away your _socks_."

And all at once, he gets it. "Oh," is all that comes out as his jaw goes slack and his eyes widen.

"I shouldn't have looked at it," she issues out quickly, pulling away from him and taking two small steps back. "I shouldn't have… but…"

His face screws up, brows knitting together. "But… what?"

She shakes her head and shrugs, throws up her hands in front of her. "You're healing," she practically exclaims. "You get hurt, and you heal. And frankly, you almost never get hurt." His expression twists even further, absolute bewilderment taking over. "And that's always going to happen. And… and…"

"And _what_?" he asks, tone leaking frustration.

She shuts her eyes and her shoulders droop as she seems to deflate before him. "You could die," she says, not looking up. "Even a body as… exceptional as yours is fragile. You could die. And it's not that I didn't know that before, but…" Slowly, she raises her gaze and gives him a vague shrug. "But more likely than not, you won't. Chances are, you'll heal. And barely age. And you will _live_."

He reaches out and takes hold of her hands. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying." She looks into his gray-blue eyes and sees the storm of emotion there, feels the jumble of warm, loving energies emanating off of him. "And I want to _live_ the rest of my life with _you_."

She pulls out of his grip and moves her hands up to either side of his face. Pressing herself into him, she says, "That's just it, baby. That's the thing." Tears begin to prick at her eyes as she stares into his. "The rest of your life might be a hundred more years. Maybe more. I can't be with you that long."

He reaches up and grasps her wrists. "Then I'll take whatever I can get," he tells her before leaning down and kissing her tenderly.

And she lets him. She doesn't pull away, even though his lips on hers send a dull ache pulsating through her heart. She slides her hands back so that her fingers wrap into his hair, tugging almost violently. She deepens the kiss, falling into him with an intense sort of desperation.

That's when he stops. "Tessa," he breathes into the small space between them as he tugs her hands from his hair.

She can hear the question in his voice, but more than that, she can feel the uncertainty in his energy. The fear. The grief. "Don't ask me," she says, a solemnness to her tone, "unless you can promise that you'll be okay without me." She sees him wince at her words, his face tensing as though he's in pain. "I need you to understand… and I need you to tell me that you understand… that – "

"Stop," he says suddenly, pulling away. He angrily grabs the clean T-shirt off the bed and pulls it over his head, grimacing at the movement.

She pulls in a deep breath and goes on, even as he stands with his back to her. "If everything else in our lives goes perfectly – which, what are the odds of that?" she gives a slight chuckle and sees his shoulders tense even further. She plows through. "If everything else is… right, then you'll have to watch me grow old. And someday… you'll have to watch me die."

He bows his head. "I already did that," he mutters, almost to himself.

"Can you do it again?"

He turns to her then, his shoulders slumped, countenance grim. "I don't know," he says with a shrug.

She raises her eyebrows and studies him closely. "I tried to picture my life without you," she says. "When you were in surgery. And just after. I tried to think about… moving on. Or… I don't know… going back. To before. Could I go back to how I was before we met?" She shakes her head earnestly. "I don't think I can." She looks up and gives him a sad smile. "But if you asked me to… If you said that you wanted me to go on without you, to live my life and be happy and…" She stops and darts her eyes away briefly, taking a quick moment to swallow down the tears at the back of her throat. "I would do _anything_ you asked," she says, connecting with his gaze once more.

He inhales sharply. "I want you to live your life and be happy, even if I'm not there to see it." He lowers himself slowly onto the edge of the bed, extends his hand out to her. She takes it, lacing her fingers with his as she steps forward to stand between his knees. "But I plan on being there," he says, looking up at her, watching as a single tear falls down her cheek. He releases her hand and reaches up to wipe its track clean. "I want us to make a life together. I want us to be happy together. However long that might be." She nods, sniffling a bit. "Is that what you want?"

"Yeah," she almost laughs out, though it sounds nearer a sob. "Of course I do." She averts her eyes up to the ceiling in an attempt to somehow retract the tears that are beginning to tumble out with each blink. "But…" she starts, working to steady her voice. "But I just… I don't want to do that to you again." She looks down at him soberly before swiping away her tears in frustration. "I know what it's like now… to come that close. Even the thought of losing you hurt so damn much. And I just… I just…"

"Baby," he says, pulling in a breath, "You know… you can do a lot of things. But you can't predict the future. And you sure as hell can't control it."

"I know," she utters sadly, sounding almost disappointed in her lack of abilities. He nearly laughs. "But…"

"Stop with the _buts_ ," he tells her, placing a silencing finger over her lips. "You think too damn much, you know that?" She frowns deeply at him. "Life isn't a… a science experiment. You can't just study it and hypothesize and theorize and…" He sighs long and loud, and draws his hands down his face in frustration.

She drops to her knees before him, placing her arms on his thighs. He gazes into her eyes as she says, "If we get married, someday you'll be a widower."

"You don't know that," he argues.

"If we buy a house together, you'll get stuck with the mortgage." He raises a single irritated eyebrow at her. "If we have kids…" She takes a deep breath and steels herself to say, "you'll most likely see them die too." She holds his gaze and watches as a shadow passes behind his eyes, a sad truth bubbling up inside. She brings her hand up to his face again, cups his cheek delicately. "I know I don't _know_. But… well, I _do_ know. And baby, I need for you to think about it. I need for you to understand that if you're with me… if you decide to stay with me forever… my forever won't be as long as yours. And I _need_ … God, I _need_ you to tell me that you can handle that."

His face looks as though it might break when he says, "What if I can't?"

"Then _please_ don't ask me to marry you," she says, her breath hitching. She brings her other hand up to his face and tilts his head down just enough so that his forehead rests upon hers. "Please don't ask," she repeats, letting her red-rimmed eyes fall shut. "Because I could never say no to you."


	47. Bobby Drake

"Dr. Sullivan?"

Tessa looks up from the computer screen, almost startled to see her new, temporary assistant standing before her, looking at her wide-eyed from the other side of her desk. "Oh, sorry, Maureen. I guess I didn't hear you come in." She glances back at the computer and wrinkles her nose. "Hey, did Dr. Cavanaugh ever confirm his in-person interview?"

"Oh," the young woman starts. "Um… I don't know."

Tessa looks up at her, eyes peering just over the frames of her glasses. _Stupid glasses_ , she thinks as she tears them from her face and begins working the bridge of her nose between her fingertips. "Well, could you find out?" she asks with more than a hint of frustration. "He's supposed to be here tomorrow. _If_ he's even coming."

"Right." The little mouse of a woman in front of her smiles suddenly, rocking back on her heels like an overly eager kindergartener.

Tessa glares at her. "Now?"

"Oh," she says, dropping her oblivious smile. "Yeah, sure. Of course." She spins on her heel and heads out of the office, only to quickly whip back around and lean in the doorframe. "Oh, Dr. Sullivan?"

She sighs, long and drawn out. "Yes, Maureen?"

"There's someone here to see you. A man."

Tessa cocks her head at the woman curiously. "Does he have a name?"

She lets out a soft giggle. "It'd be pretty weird if he didn't," she offers before straightening up and turning serious once pinned down by her boss' impatient glare. "Bobby Drake," she issues out formally.

Tessa's breath stills in her chest, even as her heart picks up pace. Her mouth falls open to say… something. But no words come out. She just sits there, staring at Maureen, her brain reeling. Finally, "Did he get past security?" comes out in a slow ramble.

"Should he not have?" Maureen asks, confusion and concern peppering her words.

She shakes her head. "No." Then, "No, I mean… no, he should… or could. I mean… there's no reason he shouldn't." She looks down and slowly pulls in a long, deep, calming breath.

"Soooo, do you want me to send him in?"

She looks up, glances around the office. It's much bigger than her last one in the tower was. But as impressive as the size may be, it looks a little pathetic right now. Unpacked boxes sit stacked in the otherwise empty corners and massive walnut built-ins loom on either side of the room, sitting empty, waiting to be filled with books or trinkets, or… whatever one fills an office like this with. Without shifting her eyes from the empty shelves, she mutters, "Yeah. Yes. Sure… send him in."

Bobby Drake. _Iceman_. Tessa hasn't seen him in years… too many years.

Still, she can remember the first time they met, back when they were both so young. It's hazy, like so many of her memories. But she can still recall how scared and out of place he seemed when he arrived at Xavier's. Scott had been the one to find him and convince his family to ship him off to the _special_ boarding school. "Just… go be nice," he'd told her when he arrived home with the boy. "He's about your age, and he's nervous as hell. So… go make a friend."

She drops her head into her hands, picturing Scott's face as he said those words, seeing his kind, loving smile. Her fingers dig into her scalp and she tugs at her hair as she remembers the feel of him wrapping his arm around her shoulder and giving her a squeeze. Her brother. _Warm_. His energy was always just so… _warm_.

"Hey," she hears. And her head jerks up, eyes honing in on the man before her. The _man_ before her. He smiles, that same crooked smile he had as a little lost 11-year-old boy.

"Bobby," she breathes out, the name sounding so natural rolling out of her. His smile grows wider and she suddenly feels wrapped up in his familiar energy. It isn't warm like Scott's. It's cold and crisp, like the first winter's snow. Refreshing and enlivening, like a clean burst of mint on her tongue. Without thinking, she shoves back her chair and jumps up, hip checking the desk as she careens into his open arms.

"Ow," he laughs, noting how hard she slammed into the corner of the monstrous desk. "Still clumsy as ever."

"Some things never change," she says, pulling away and clearing her throat. Her smile fades just a bit as she looks into his pale blue eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He's staring at her intently, studying her with his gaze. A cloud almost seems to pass over his eyes as he says, "Storm asked me to come."

Tessa takes a few steps back until her hands find the edge of her desk. She leans up against it as she absently rubs the blossoming bruise on her hip. "Oh," she utters, almost disappointedly. Then, wrinkling her brow. "Why?"

He lets out a small, uncomfortable chuckle. "Well… you weren't returning her calls."

A confused frown takes over her face. "She called?"

Nodding, he says, "Yeah. A lot. For a few months now."

The frown deepens as she wracks her brain. _No_ , she thinks. _No… I'd remember that._ Yet somehow there's an odd sort of feeling of déjà vu at the mention of it.

Bobby offers a small, comforting laugh, as though he can sense her turmoil. "Logan was about ready to come down here and drag your ass back to the school." She looks up at him quickly, her eyes wide. "Professor told him not to," he tells her, his face dropping into a more solemn expression. "We all know you need your space," he says sadly. "We respect that."

She shakes her head. "It's not you… It's just…"

He waves a silencing hand – "Yeah, yeah. I know." – and quirks the corner of his mouth into a small grin. "Would've been great though, right? Seeing the Wolverine tear into Stark Tower to _demand_ that you come home?"

 _Home_. The word reverberates slowly through the air around her. "Yeah," she mutters absently. Then, with a bit of a coy smile, "It would be fun to see how Tony's security team would deal with that."

Bobby takes a deep breath and starts turning in his spot, gazing around the giant office. "Tony," he intones with what sounds like a hint of disdain. "Tony Stark." Slowly, he turns back to face her. "This is where you work," he says, his tone sounding less impressed and more teasing. "Nova hit the big time."

At the sound of her old name, her face drops. "Guess so," she mumbles, eyes darting away from him.

He mutters a quick apology – "Sorry." – and steps closer to the desk. "Is this mahogany?" he asks, trailing his fingertips over the dark wood.

"Mm-hmm," she hums. "Like you said, _big time_."

"When Storm told us you'd be working here, I thought, _damn_ ," he says with a lilt. "I mean, I always knew you were smart, but… Stark Industries has the leading edge on scientific innovation."

She quirks a brow at him. "That sounds suspiciously like some of our marketing material."

"Yeah, I was waiting downstairs while security had their way with me," he tells her. "Apparently the only reading materials Tony Stark allows in the waiting areas are informational pamphlets about his company and magazines with stories about him."

She nods. "Yep, that's Tony."

He glances up at her, a bright light shining from his eyes. "We're all really proud of you, you know?" She blushes a bit, ducking her head. "No," he says after a moment. "I guess you wouldn't know." He pushes away from the desk and flops into one of the chairs in front of it. "How could you know, if you never talk to any of us?"

"I called last Christmas," she tries lamely.

He nods, but doesn't look her in the eye when he says, "Yeah, but you've been just a few hours from us for years now, and you haven't come by once."

"Thought you _respected_ my need for _space_ ," she says, an inadvertent disdain to her voice.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "Doesn't mean I don't miss you."

She nudges his chair playfully with her foot and he looks up to give her that crooked Bobby smile. "Hey," she says suddenly, "you're not still with Kitty, are you?"

He shakes his head. "I will never understand why you have such a problem with her," he laments. "She was always nothing but nice –"

"Ugh," she interrupts. "Saccharine. _Cloying_. She wanted you to _think_ she was nice, but she was really just a conceited goody two shoes."

"Stop," he warns lightly.

"She ratted me out more than once. You too," she says, pointing a strict finger at him. "Just a smug –"

"No, really," he interrupts. "Stop. You're talking about my wife."

Her mouth drops, eyes widen. "You're shitting me."

"Nope," he says, popping the "p" with a self-satisfied smirk as he leans back and crosses his feet on top of her desk.

"Since when?" she asks, shock still evident on her face.

"Almost two years," he tells her, his grin changing into something a bit… sad. "I would've invited you, but… well, you never gave us an address or anything." Tessa sits with that, silence setting in around them as she thinks about the things she's missed by creating all of this… space. "You can still get us a wedding gift, if you want," he jokes. "We don't have a waffle iron."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "You have terrible taste in women," she mutters, shoving his feet off her desk.

He sits upright and exclaims, "Me?! Look who's talking!" She frowns at him, an over-the-top show of injury. "You're not still seeing that guy that you took off with after everything at Muir Island, are you?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Cal?" Had that been where they met, Muir Island? How had she not remembered that?

"Sure," he says with a roll of the eyes. " _Cal_."

"No," she says simply.

"Good. If you were, I might have to kick your ass," he tells her with a comical expression.

"Please," she scoffs. "You've been scared of me since day one."

He laughs, but he doesn't deny it. Instead he asks, almost hesitantly, "How are you… really?"

She gives him an assessing look. "Is that why you're here? To ask, after all these years, how I am?"

Bobby shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. "Pretty much." She cocks her head at him and raises a single questioning brow. He sighs. "Professor X has been… concerned." He levels her with a serious stare. "He said he felt something. A few months back. Said you were in trouble."

"I don't know why he'd think that," she says, suddenly averting her eyes.

"Sure," he snaps. "Look… he's trying to keep his promise to you. He's kept his distance. He hasn't been… in your head. But you and I both know that if the Professor says he felt something, _something_ damn well happened."

"Bobby…" she tries, only to be interrupted.

"He asked Storm to talk to you, just to make sure you're okay. And you didn't answer a single one of her calls. Not _one_."

"I've been busy," she tells him, not at all sure why she doesn't respond with _I never received any calls_.

"I really think you should come home," he says, voice deep and almost pleading. "Just… just talk to him."

For a moment, she wants to. She wants to follow Bobby out of the office, out of the tower, out of the city. She wants to go home. _Home._ And she wants to see Storm, be enveloped in her warm embrace, have her soft, soothing laughter wash over her. She wants to share some beers with Logan and lament everything that's wrong with the world while they puff at cigars under the stars. She wants to talk to Hank, tell him about… well, _everything_ she's been working on and _everything_ she get to do once the new lab is up and running. She wants sit in the Professor's study with him and play chess, and have him ease seamlessly into her mind to calm the swells that so often rise up and seem ready to take her over and drown her.

 _Drown her_. _She's drowning. She's drowned._

"No," she spits out suddenly, jolting upright. "No… I… I can't. Not now." She takes a deep breath to try and dial down the frazzled energy burning at her fingertips. "See this office?" she asks with a smile. "It's new. I have a new job here. And… and there's just a lot to do. I'll be leaving town soon anyway, for at least a few weeks. For work." She looks over Bobby and sees that he's just sitting there, watching her with a dull sort of sadness in his bright blue eyes. "I'm sorry," she says almost sheepishly.

He scoots to the very edge of the chair and holds out his hand for her. She takes it without hesitation, and moves to sit in the chair next to him. He pivots toward her. "Tell me you're okay," he says softly. "Tell me that we have nothing to worry about. That you're not in any kind of trouble."

She looks down, her eyes gazing at her own hand in his. "I'm not," she says simply.

He gives her fingers a quick squeeze. "Tell me you're okay," he says again.

She looks up at him and nods. "I'm okay."

000

"Hey," she says, a suspicious note to her voice as she dumps her stuff on the counter. She shoots Bucky a bit of a side-eye glare as she asks, "What are you doing?"

He doesn't look up, too focused on kneading the dough before him. He huffs a quick breath to blow the hair out of his face. "I'm making bread. What does it look like I'm doing?"

She kicks off her shoes and strides into the kitchen and over to his side. "Do you know how to make bread?"

"I'm learning."

"Why?"

He picks up the dough and drops it into a pan before turning to face her. "I'm bored as hell," he states, a hint of animosity to his tone. "I've been under house arrest for a week."

She reaches up to tuck some flour-laden hair back behind his ear and gazes at him with a crooked smile. "Medical leave. Not house arrest."

"Feels the same." He reaches around her to grab a towel off the counter and wipe down his hands. "You got to go to work today. Doesn't seem fair that I get left behind."

"At least I came home early for you," she hums with a grin. When he refuses to return her smile, she groans rather dramatically. "It's not like I had a particularly fantastic day at work anyway."

"Tell me all about it," he snipes, covering the dough to let it rest. "I'm all ears. I've got _literally_ nothing else to do."

"Well, I'm swamped," she begins.

"Like always."

She nods. "And Maureen is an idiot. She never confirmed my appointments for this week. I had to call a candidate and explain to him myself why I missed his interview a few days ago – which _she_ never rescheduled. She broke the coffee machine – and I'm not even sure how that's possible because it's completely foolproof. I had to go Starbucks to refuel, which is fine really, because I _needed_ to get away from her. But then the kid behind the counter called me ma'am. _Ma'am_."

"Isn't that just being polite?" he asks, a small sparkle in his eye.

She frowns at him. "I'm very clearly a _miss_. Maybe a _young lady_. Or even a _hey you_. I'd prefer _hey you_ to _ma'am_."

He chuckles, finally showing off a bit of a smile, as he drapes his arms over her hips and tugs her close. "Yes, ma'am," he whispers to her before leaning in to nibble on her earlobe.

She cranes her neck a bit so that he can have better access as he begins trailing soft kisses down along her jawline. "I don't have time to unpack anything. I still haven't made any official offers. And I'm supposed to go out to Seattle next week for the groundbreaking."

He pulls away suddenly. "Next week?"

"Just for a couple days." She reaches up and swipes some flour from his cheek.

"But you'll be out there a lot after that?" he asks, deep frown taking over his face.

"Eventually." She leans in and kisses the corner of his downturned lips, slowly grazing over them until they part to let her in. He pulls her close, moving his hands up to the small of her back and pressing her into him. She wraps her arms around his neck, runs the fingers of one hand through his hair while the others linger at the base of his skull, holding him to her. They stay like that for what feels like forever, the kiss rising in intensity, in hunger. They stay like that until he's hard against her pelvis and she's raw from his stubble.

"Bruce said I'm good," he breathes out into the space between them as they each work to steady their breathing. "Cleared for duty."

She smiles up at him, green eyes dark with desire. "Yeah, I know. He sent me the paperwork."

"You gonna sign off?" he asks, slowly shuffling backward, pulling her with him.

She shrugs in his embrace. "Maybe. Haven't decided yet."

They're almost out of the kitchen, him guiding her in small steps when he stops suddenly and asks, "You need proof that I'm all healed?" She says nothing, just cocks a single, mischievous brow up at him. He drops his hands to her ass and hauls her up against him. She quickly wraps her legs around his hips and squeezes her thighs tight as he leans in and kisses her deeply. He moves the rest of the way out of the kitchen and presses her up against the wall in the hallway. Then he runs his flesh and bone hand along her thigh, up to her waistband, slowly working his fingers beneath.

She pulls away briefly, leaning her head back against the wall. She traces a hand down from his head, where her fingers had been tugging at his hair, to the collar of his shirt. She undoes the top two buttons of the Henley and snakes her hand underneath, using the back of her fingers to feel for the long scar that stretches down the middle of his chest. Her knuckles skim over the raised cord of flesh. "Not quite healed," she mumbles, dropping her lips to his neck.

"I'm working on it," he says, hoisting her a bit higher and pressing her closer to the wall so he can get her pants undone.

She flips her hand around and caresses the scar with her fingertip. That's all it is now. Not even ten days after being pulled apart, and all he has to show for it is a small silvery scar that she can almost feel beginning to fade beneath her fingertips. There's something about that knowledge that sends a white hot shock through her and makes her legs tense tighter around him.

"Easy, baby," he whispers as he slides his hand beneath her panties, slowly sinking two fingers into her. She lets out a soft moan, open mouth grazing his neck as she clenches around him. "Easy," he repeats. And she lets all of her worries fade away.

000

She never does tell Bucky about the visit from Bobby.

After their not-so-quickie in the hall that night, they clean up and go have dinner with Steve – lasagna, a recipe he's been perfecting for the better part of a year and one that always requires people to come over and share. Then they settle in for a movie, some spy thriller that has the men on either of side of her arguing back and forth about proper protocol and fantasy versus reality and Hollywood magic. She lets them go on and talk over the movie for the entire two hours as she sits back and stares blankly at the screen.

Bucky had done a pretty good job of wiping away any thoughts of Bobby or Storm, or even a worried Professor Xavier sulking back at the school. He'd managed to pull every single questionable, concerned, anxious thought from her head with just a flick of his fingers. But as the night settles in around them, as the tenor of ecstasy fades into the drone of real life, all of that pent-up apprehension creeps back in.

"You got some important stuff going on?" Bucky asks her as he crawls into bed beside her.

She turns to him with a confused gaze.

He nods down at the phone in her hand. "You've been checking it all night."

She looks down and sees that it's open to her missed calls. He's right. All night she'd been scrolling absently through them, looking for the ones from Storm. But there was nothing there. No missed calls. No unheard voicemails. Nothing, save a lingering feeling of doubt in the back of her mind. "Sorry," she says, tossing the cell onto the bedside table.

"You feel okay?" he asks with a frown, watching as she lays down and settles into the pillows.

"Mm-hmm," she mumbles.

He flips off the light and settles down next her. There's a full moon outside their window, and the light from it feels almost blinding to her as they lie there in the otherwise dark room. He reaches out his metal hand and gently brushes the hair from her forehead before pressing his thumb softly between her eyes. "You keep frowning like that, you're gonna get worry lines." She doesn't even realize that she'd been squinting and scowling so deeply until his thumb begins to knead away the tension.

"Is that something your mother used to tell you?" she asks, closing her eyes and relaxing into his touch.

He laughs a bit. "All the time."

She wiggles her way closer to him, nestling her head into the crook of his arm. "I'm just tired," she says, feeling a wave of guilt crash down on her.

 _Why lie? What are you hiding?_ She doesn't hear the voices, but she remembers them clearly, down to the exact tone, the volume, the insistence. _What are you hiding?_ She places her hand on his chest, feels his heart beat into her palm.

He drapes his left arm over her, a protective metal blanket that makes her shiver both from the cold and from the absolute pure feeling of love that it shoots through her. "Go to sleep, baby," he lazily whispers.

She feel his heartrate slow and hears his breathing steady next to her. But it's some time yet before she's able to fall asleep, her mind too busy, too overwrought, too… torn.


	48. Not Just a Dream

She has Tony access the servers the next day to pull a list of all her calls from the past few months, as well as any and all deleted voicemails. "I'm pretty sure I accidently deleted some," she tells him sheepishly, fine with making herself sound like an idiot who doesn't know how to manage voicemail as long as it means he doesn't ask any questions.

Sure enough, there are fifteen missed calls from Storm. And three voicemails, each rising in anxious intensity. From… _Just checking in… we haven't heard from you in a while._ To… _I'm really worried, honey. Professor is worried. Are you alright? Why won't you talk to me?_ Please _call me back. Please._

There's a moment, as that final voicemail plays, when she feels her entire body seize up. Who could have deleted these but her? Her phone is practically glued to her person, almost never out of her sight. Very few people would have had physical access to it. And even if they did, this was a Stark Industries phone, filled with more security protocols than you could shake a stick at. Who could've gotten in? And even if someone _had_ managed to get the phone away from her _and_ to break into it, why would they delete voicemails from an old friend just calling to check in?

Then again, why would she?

"Hey," sounds from across the room, pulling her from her thoughts. Bucky and Steve tear into the apartment, both men smiling, laughing, and sweating up a storm. Their rapid, unexpected entrance causes her to jump, her cell flying out of her hand. Steve just laughs as she scrambles to find it in the couch cushions. "Didn't mean to scare you," he says with a twinkle in his eye.

She finds the phone and grips it tightly before leaning back and letting out a long, deep sigh. "How was the first day back in action?" she asks, her voice sounding weak, almost disinterested.

Steve flops around a dismissive hand. "He's outta shape. Rusty as hell. Pretty much useless."

"Shaddup," Bucky whines as he comes back in from the kitchen and tosses a bottle of water in his friend's face. "I've been out for a week."

"Two," he points out, taking a long drink.

"Yeah, well, I was unconscious for a chunk of that, so I don't count it," he admits with a shrug.

Steve barks out a laugh. "What, if you don't remember it, it didn't happen?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Bucky flops down on the couch next to Tessa. "I didn't think you'd be home so early," he says, taking hold of her bare foot and giving her toes a playful squeeze.

"I didn't want to unpack the office… too much work," she says with a sigh, dropping her head to the back of the couch. Her eyes blink closed and she cringes at the light still seeping through her lids.

"Or," Steve starts, "you wanted to be here in case he broke himself his first day back so you could say _I told you so_."

Without opening her eyes or raising her head, she brings a single finger to the tip of her nose. _You are correct, sir_.

Bucky chuckles lightly next to her, his hand moving up to slowly stroke along her shin. "I'm not broken," he says. Then, turning to Steve, "And I'm not rusty." He rises from the sofa, leaving a cold spot in his wake that has her face pull into a deeper frown. "You're both terrible. I'm going to take a shower."

"Good," Steve says, still looming near the entryway. "You stink."

"Get out of my house," he throws over his shoulder as he heads for the bedroom.

She hears Steve snicker a bit before, "You okay over there?"

It takes her a moment to realize that he's talking to her. Once it clicks, she slowly raises her head and lazily blinks her eyes open to look at him. "I thought James told you to go," she says with a quirked brow.

"Ouch." He thrusts his hand over his chest, feigning a piercing wound, before sighing and admitting, "He was fine. Really. He did great."

She nods. "Yeah, I know."

"Are you okay?" he asks again, a hint of concern to his voice.

She furrows her brow and drops her head back onto the cushion behind her. "I think I'm getting a migraine."

"Oh," he mutters. "Well, I'll take off then. You want me to get the lights?" he asks simply, remembering back to the handful of times he's left Tessa in a dark room to sleep off a migraine.

"Yes please," she croaks out.

He flips the switch at the door, leaving only the light from the kitchen on to keep the entire apartment from being bathed in darkness. "Feel better," he says lightly, before softly shutting the door behind him.

There, sitting as still as possible in the silent dark, an image flashes in her periphery. Bright and blazing, the flames lick into her field of vision. It could be minutes, it could be hours… all sense of time escapes her as the fire slowly closes in. The flames are so real, and so _hot_ – the skin on her face feels like it's meting off her skull – that she half expects to hear the crackle and pop of burning wood. But the only sound reverberating through her ears is an oddly familiar, low hum. She lets out a soft, pained moan as the headache begins to pulse in time with the flickering of the flames.

Then, all at once, the fire disappears, a touch of ice lingering, slowly arcing over her brows. She turns her head a bit, never opening her eyes, and nuzzles into the calming coolness of his metal palm as the cold pad of his thumb continues tracing lazily along her forehead. She reaches up with both hands and takes hold of his wrist to ensure that he stays pressed tightly to her, and she slowly twists around and lays down in his lap.

Bucky's other hand falls to the back of her head, fingers working into her hair. "I'm fine," she mumbles, feeling him shift beneath her. He continues to knead above the bridge of her nose and along her brows as he softly caresses her hair with his flesh fingers. "I promise."

"I know," she hears him say, voice low and tender.

She opens her eyes, grimacing a bit as she does so, and looks up at him. "I wanted to make you dinner."

He smiles down at her, chuckling lightly. "Really?"

"It was your first day back." She rolls onto her side, facing the back of the couch to get further lost in the dark. "I wanted to take care of you."

"You spent all week taking care of me," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

She slowly pulls herself up into a sitting position and turns to face him. "Your first night home, I made you eat burned chicken, yelled at you, and told you you'd have to watch me die."

He frowns over at her. "The chicken wasn't burned. It was just a little dry."

She shakes her head and drops her eyes down to her lap. "I shouldn't have said that," she mutters. "What kind of asshole says that?"

He scoots closer to her and reaches out with his metal fingers to gently grasp her chin. Tugging it up so that her gaze meets his, he says, "You don't want me to get hurt. You said that, remember?" The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small, delicate grin. "You _were_ taking care of me."

She gives a small nod. "I'm just really, really shitty at it." He lets out a quiet but genuine laugh and drops his hand from her face, placing it on her shoulder and tugging her back down into his lap. He doesn't say a word as his cold fingers begin to apply a light pressure at her temple, just enough so that she starts to feel some of the dull throb lift away. "I'm not a clinician," she mumbles softly as her eyes fall shut.

"What's that?"

She takes in a deep breath. "I'm a doctor… but I'm no good at actually caring for people."

"That's not true," he protests.

She opens her eyes and gazes up at him, thinks long and hard about what to say next. The light from the kitchen almost seems to shine through his eyes, illuminating the blue irises to the point of turning them a sort of pale gray. Like smoke. Like the light, foggy smoke that settles in after a fire is just put out. She reaches up awkwardly and places her palm on his cheek. He pivots just enough to lay a soft kiss on the heel of her hand, never breaking eye contact.

"My friend Bobby came by to see me yesterday," she says, the words flowing out slow and smooth like honey.

His hand stills on her forehead. "Do I know him?" he asks with a thoughtful expression.

She shakes her head a bit. "We grew up together." She brings her hand up to shield her eyes from the low light seeping in from the kitchen. "I haven't seen him in… a long time."

Bucky shifts a bit, moving his upper body so that it better blocks the light from hitting her face. "What did he want?" he asks with just a hint of suspicion. She cocks her head a bit in his lap and looks into his eyes, seeming to assess whether or not she should tell him anything more. At least, that's how he reads the look. "Why didn't you say anything yesterday?"

She shrugs and slowly averts her eyes, letting them drift off to face the darkest corner of the room. "He wants me to come home," she says finally, breathing the words out almost dreamily. "For a visit."

With her face turned in his lap, he moves his fingers over to her opposite temple and begins working in slow circles. She lets her lids fall shut as some of tension in her jaw starts to fade. He moves his thumb back to her forehead and smiles to himself when he hears her small hum of contentment. "Do you want to go?" he asks, voice soft, almost hesitant.

She nearly jerks in his lap, her eyes flying open as she turns to him in horror. "No," she ekes out. Then, stronger, more authoritative. "No, I don't want to… I… I _can't_."

He gazes down at her, a deep frown taking over his face as he watches her expression quickly move from surprise to what looks like fear. "Okay," he says with a nod. "I was just curious."

He doesn't ask for an explanation, doesn't point out that her reaction seems a little bat shit crazy. And she's more than grateful for that. Because she's not sure she really has a good explanation. And she's starting to feel like she might actually be bat shit crazy. "I'm sorry," she says, looking up at him. She rolls onto her side and sits up once more, feeling a bit woozy from the shift in position.

"You don't have to be sorry," he says, small, forced smile tugging at his lips.

"I know. I just…" She lets out a long sigh and reaches out for him, placing her hand on his cheek before slowly letting it drop down his neck, to his clavicle, finally stilling in the center of his chest. She can't seem to stop this motion. Over the past several days, her hands just keep finding their way to that spot… the spot where he was laid open. She feels his heart thrum beneath her fingertips.

"Baby," he says gently, the word pulsing through his chest and into her hand. He reaches down and plucks her fingers from his center, wraps them up in his large, warm hand. She looks up and into his eyes and she wants to cry at the absolute adoration she sees there. He smiles lightly at her. "God I wish I could take you home… to my home. I wish I could introduce you to my family. To my mom."

She can't help the small laugh that bubbles out of her. "She'd probably hate me," she says, dropping her gaze.

He sounds utterly confident when he tells her, "She would absolutely love you."

"I can't cook. I'm a slob. And I say horrible things to her son." She looks back up at him, her vision starting to blur a bit at the edges, a sign that the migraine's not even close to done with her.

"You're smart and driven and successful. She'd probably say something like, _maybe you can lend my boy some of that_." He pauses and snickers, a faraway look in his eye. "She'd ask you all about your work, what you do. She'd sit there for hours listening to you talk about your research, not even caring that she didn't understand it."

"I'd try to explain it," she says softly. "So she could understand. If she was actually interested."

"I know you would, baby," he almost whispers, bringing his cold hand back up to her face. "And honestly, my ma was a hell of a straight shooter. She'd commend you for saying _horrible things_ to me… if they were things I needed to hear."

She shakes her head before curling once again into his palm, nudging his thumb up to her forehead. "No," she breathes out. "What I said was wrong. It might've been true, but… it was hurtful."

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, it was." She gazes up at him, her glassy eyes filled with regret. "My dad told me something… just before he left us." He pauses, giving her hand a small squeeze with his flesh fingers. "He said, we hurt most the people we love the most."

She closes her eyes, the steady hum she'd been hearing changing into an echo-y sort of whoosh, like water filling her ears. "That's sad," she mumbles, the words sounding garbled.

"That's life," he says with a resigned sort of sigh. He sees her face contort into a pained grimace. "Come on," he leans in and whispers to her before gently picking her up off the sofa. "Let's get you to bed."

000

 _Just… on… Tess… hang on…coming…_

It's the last thing she hears from the earpiece before it completely shorts out, the water rushing in around her face drowning it until all sound fizzles out.

 _Drowning_. That's what happening to her. She's drowning.

She keeps her eyes open – even as the murky water flushes into them and burns. She's too afraid to let them flutter shut. She holds them open as the world gets darker and darker around her, and the whooshing sound of water filling the trunk grows further and further away. She holds them open with all of the strength she has left. _Please don't_ , she thinks to herself. _Please don't do this_ , she begs.

Her chest aches, lungs burn, and she is so, so cold. And finally her eyes close.

 _No, no, no._

The cold and darkness envelope her, swirl around her. She's moving without moving, spinning and falling and floating all at once. She can _feel_ the energy all around her – the steady pull of the river, the calm flow of nature. But also… others. She feels the fast-paced horror and the stop-motion shock of the people who love her. _They must be close_ , she thinks. _Just not close enough_. She feels the energy of every one of them as she continues to spin and float and move through them all.

 _No._

She spins and spins and spins, sensing the pain and panic of every person there. She recognizes James and Steve – knows their signatures by heart. She swirls around them and feels their pain and fear like a dull ache pulsating through her.

For a moment, she thinks her eyes are still open. As the spinning and swirling begin to calm, as the stillness starts to set in, she can see light flickering at the edges of the world, like slow-building flames. The light – the _fire_ – grows all around her, becomes brighter and brighter and brighter until all at once it simply… burns out.

And now she is in the darkness once again.

But this darkness isn't bleak and black. Her vision starts to return, and as it does, she can see shapes in the darkness. A familiar sight. The ceiling fan above her bed. She's in bed. _No._

She blinks. Once. Twice. And then, _shit_ , she thinks, as she feels every muscle in her body contract. _Shit, not again_. She gasps for air, suddenly, violently, and pushes herself upright.

The air around her burns her lungs as she huffs it in. Her hands fly up to her chest, feel the fast-paced _thump-thump, thump-thump_ coming from her heart within. She looks down at the hands, turns them palm up and squints and strains to examine them in the dark. Her hands. They are her hands.

It isn't until her face is wrenched to the side by _his_ hands that she even registers a feeling other than the pulsating _burn_ of her lungs. One of those hands is so cold, it pulls out whatever warmth had been in her cheek. But the other is so, so warm that she can't help but curl into it, her face turning to the side to nuzzle into the warmth.

Still, the room is dark. And cold… always cold. But she can make out the sliver of moonlight coming in through the partially open window. And the crisp smell of an early autumn evening, the scent of drying leaves being carried in by the breeze.

And then there's the smell of him. The unmistakable scent of good old Irish Spring bar soap mixed with a fresh rain-scented fabric softener mixed with… _James_. Her eyes, still wide and wild, drift over just enough to see that his face is only inches from hers. She can make out the familiar shape of his jawline, see the moonlight reflect off of his eyes. She forces herself to blink, long and hard and drawn out. Again. _Blink. Blink._ Until he comes into focus.

It's only once she can make out his mouth, realize that his lips are moving desperately, that her brain kicks into gear, relaying the sounds to her. "Tessa?" he nearly screams, still holding tightly to either side of her face. "Look at me," he pleads. And once her eyes meet his, "Baby?" he questions simply.

Now that she can hear again, she's suddenly aware of how loud her breathing is. Still gasping and sputtering. Hyperventilating. She holds his eyes as she tries to calm her breath, and he seems to recognize that. No longer speaking nor waiting for her to reply, he simply begins to breathe slowly and deeply, encouraging her to follow his lead. Her hands are still held up in front of her, suspended in mid-air, trembling. He removes his metal hand from her face and grasps her fingers, gently bringing her hands to his chest so that she can feel him take in a breath – count of _one, two, three, four_ – and issue it out – count of _one, two, three, four_.

Slowly, her breathing returns to a normal rhythm. Her fingers grasp at his shirt, and she notices the warmth of tears spilling down over her cheeks. He gently thumbs them away, his right hand still resting on the side of her face. Then he leans forward, rests his forehead on hers and whispers to her, "It's okay. You're okay." And her breath hitches again.

"Noooo," she moans, a low, guttural sound that even she doesn't recognize as being from her. "Noooo," spilling into a deep sob.

He pulls her close, wraps his strong arms around her. She can almost feel him willing her to be okay. To be safe in his embrace.

She falls into him. Her fingers claw desperately at him, gathering more and more of his T-shirt in their grasp. Her hot breath spills into his chest as she huffs out giant sobs. His metal fingers begin to slowly trace along her spine. She remembers this feeling, she know it well. How many times has he run those fingers down her back? A silent gesture as they sit together watching TV. A gentle nudge to wake her in the morning. A cold break from the overwhelming heat as they make love. A comfort.

The tears continue, but the devastating sobs die down as she melts further into him. She's wrecked. She's scared and confused and, unlike before, she's desperate to close her eyes. To drift off and wake later to find it was _all_ a dream.

His right hand squeezes her shoulder gently, his arm still wrapped around her, holding her close. She feels him kiss her neck softly as he says again, "It's okay, baby." She shuts her eyes tight. "It's just a dream," he whispers.

 _He said he felt something. A few months back. Said you were in trouble._

"Just a dream," he repeats, his hand now smoothing down her hair.

 _You and I both know that if the Professor says he felt something, something damn well happened._

"It's okay," he continues, as she struggles with her thoughts. "I got you," he says then. "You're safe."

She shakes her head, face still pressed tightly into his chest. She mutters into him, voice so small, it barely makes a sound, "I think I'm in trouble."


	49. Burning Madness

She doesn't fall back asleep, so neither does he. It's almost four in the morning by the time her breathing levels out and the sobs die down. He keeps holding her close, curled around her in the dark. He tells her she should go back to sleep and she says simply, "No."

He asks her if she wants to talk about the nightmare.

"No."

He tugs her closer and whispers in her ear, "Stay right here?"

And she sniffles once before issuing out, "No."

He loosens his grip on her and rolls onto his back, stares up at the moonlit ceiling. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

She pulls herself up onto her elbow and looks over at him with a confused frown.

"When I had a bad nightmare," he starts, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, "sometimes it helped to… I don't know… walk it off." She says nothing, but her expression turns resolute as she gives him a firm nod. "You want me to come with you?"

"Yes," she rasps out with another, more emphatic nod.

000

It seemed as though just yesterday it was the dead of summer, with the sun constantly blazing high in the sky, burning his back as he trudged around the grounds with the new recruits. But now it's dark and cold and the air is utterly still as he steps out into it. Bucky pulls his jacket tighter around himself and turns to face Tessa.

"It's so quiet," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

He reaches over and zips up her jacket, gives her a soft smile when she moves her gaze from the few stars peeking out from behind the clouds over to his eyes. "Yeah," he says with a nod. "It is."

She slides her hand into his and they begin to walk. "I didn't mean to scare you," she says to him, giving his fingers a little, reassuring squeeze.

"I know." Her hand is like ice in his grip, so he pulls her a bit closer and tucks both their hands into his pocket. "I know how it is," he says, voice steady, though a bit defeated. She leans her head onto his shoulder and lets him lead the way as he veers onto the path towards the riverfront. "For a while I was having nightmares every time my eyes closed. If I managed to fall asleep, I woke up screaming." He glances up at the early morning sky, seeking out the light of the moon. _It's always darkest just before the dawn_.

"What made them stop?" she asks, her breath creating a small billow of fog in front of them.

"Time," he replies. "As much as I hate the idea of therapy and never thought I'd _ever_ do it… that helped too." He slows his pace a bit and she leans heavier into him. "Talking about them… about everything… it was… _hard_ ," he says with a small chuckle. "But it helped."

She stops short, just as they reach the path that stretches along the river. She stares intently out at the dark water, listens carefully to the slap of small waves as they hit the concrete embankment below. "I drowned," she breathes out, her eyes trained on the reflective surface.

He watches her closely, the stiffness in her neck and shoulders, the strong jut of her chin, the movement in her cheek as she grinds her jaw. He sees the glassiness of her eyes in the reflection of the moonlight. "Is that what it was about?" he asks softly, taking a tentative step closer. Inside his jacket pocket, she tightens her grip on his hand. And without looking away from the water, she gives a single affirmative nod. "Do you remember what happened?"

Some of the tightness in her stance fades as she lets out a long sigh. She drops her head to his shoulder once again. "It was all sort of… fuzzy before. But now I remember. I remember everything."

There's something about the way she says those words that shoots a chill down his spine. Maybe it's just the stillness of the dark night, or the eeriness of the black river laid out before them. But when she states that she remembers _everything_ , he gets the feeling she's talking about more than just the _incident_. He tries to brush off the unnerving sensation, choosing to take her words at face value instead. "You remember being in the trunk?"

She nods against him. "I heard you over the comms. All of you. Steve sounded so… _desperate_." She shakes her head and turns into him, burying her face into his shoulder. He lets go of her hand and chooses instead to wrap his right arm tightly around her. She shivers next to him just as he feels the first hint of a cold breeze blow past them. "It _burned_ ," she says in an ominous tone.

His brows knit together. "What burned?"

She pulls away from him just enough to look up and meet his eyes. "The water," she says before letting her gaze shift over towards the river. "I tried to hold my breath… but I…" Her breath hitches and for a fleeting moment she feels that same deep burn in her chest. "I couldn't. And then I breathed in the water and…" Her eyes hone in on the subtle ebb and flow of the slow moving current. "That pain… that _burning_ …"

He's quiet and still for a long moment, waiting for her to finish her thought. But she never does. She simply continues to stare out at the water, watching as though she's waiting for something to happen, waiting for the river to come and swallow her up again. Or waiting for it to utter some long-held secret. He nudges her with his shoulder, eager to break her reverie. "You still with me?" he asks lightly.

She offers a small smile, though still not averting her gaze. "I felt you out there," she says, voice deep with regret. "Both you and Steve." She looks up at him then, the same small, sad smile tugging at her lips as she speaks as though it might make the words easier to swallow. "I felt your fear… _terror._ And your grief."

He pulls in a sharp breath, the sudden memory of those awful moments hitting him like a punch to the gut. His face contorts in a way that makes it obvious he's trying to mask the pain.

She looks away quickly. "I think that's why," she sputters, words tumbling out all at once. "I think that's why I'm so worried about hurting you. Because I know. I _know_ how you felt then. I _know_ how bad it was."

His gaze is trained on her as she speaks, as fresh tears build in her eyes and slowly cascade down her cheeks. He wants to reach out and wipe them away, but he feels almost paralyzed next to her.

"I knew it was bad," she says with a sniffle. "Obviously. But…" she turns to him then, locking sad, remorseful eyes with his. "The _panic_ …" Her hand shoots up to her heart. "I can still feel it."

His mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. There simply are no words for this. He reaches up and takes hold of the hand on her chest, brings it to his own, clasping it tight.

She shakes her head dully, dropping her gaze to the ground. "I'm just… so, so sorry."

He pulls her to him in a fast flurry of motion, pressing her to his chest, almost forcing her – through sheer desperation – to melt into him. He holds her so tight that he can feel the expansion of her rib cage as she breathes. But she doesn't fight for space. Instead she slowly unfurls her arms, freeing them of the embrace so that she can wrap them around his middle. Her fingers cling to the fabric of his jacket as she struggles for purchase, desperate to hold him as tightly as he's wrapped himself around her.

000

After returning from their walk, despite the odd sort of heaviness that remains in her gut, Tessa does feel a bit lighter over all. Like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. _Because I know what I have to do_.

She turns on the coffee pot and jumps in the shower, inviting Bucky to join her. He politely declines and she can plainly see why. No matter how hard he tries to hide it, she can still make out the redness in his eyes, the choked quality of his voice. She kisses him softly, tenderly, and leaves him to sort himself out.

When she gets out of the shower, she's greeted by the smell of bacon, the sizzling and popping sounding as soon as she enters the kitchen. She moves over to him, smile taking over her face as he easily makes room for her at his side, opening up and lazily draping his arm around her as she sidles closer. "Hungry?" he asks, and her smile grows wider at the clear, unfettered sound of his voice. "You didn't have any dinner," he reminds her simply.

"Yeah," she says. "It smells amazing."

"Grab some eggs," he tells her, giving her a little shove with his hip.

They eat a leisurely breakfast together, something that they rarely have time to do. Apparently, getting up before dawn does have its perks. "Maybe we should set the alarm for 4 more often," she suggests. "Might be the only way we'll get this time together."

He raises a single brow in her direction. "I'm not willing to risk your wrath when the alarm goes off that early," he says. "I'm not sure I'd survive."

They sit out on the balcony with cups of steaming coffee, the quilt from their bed wrapped around their shoulders, as they lean into each other and watch the sun rise. All of the clouds seem to burn off over the course of an hour, and already the cold they waded through so early that morning has faded into nothing more than a slight chill.

When he leaves for the morning training run, he does so with the pure, joyful smile that never fails to cause a flutter in her stomach. She notes the deep crinkles at the corners of his eyes, commits that sight to memory as he kisses her goodbye.

Then she too, sets off about her day. She has a phone interview at two, and needs to meet with Pepper sometime after that to go over the logistics of the groundbreaking in Seattle. But as she sets out on the Ducati that morning, she doesn't head for the city. Instead, she goes north, up the small highway leading from the compound. North, towards home.

She just can't quite get it out of her head, you see. The feeling that something is just so terribly wrong. The idea that, even though the _trouble_ happened months ago, she may still be in trouble now. The cryptic knowledge that whatever this is has been messing with her psyche for so long now that there simply _must_ be something more to it.

And the familiarity of that deep, painful burn in her chest. Why was that fiery ache so very recognizable?

Jean Grey. That's what it is. Breathing in that water, filling her lungs with the thick, bitter liquid set her very core on fire, scorching her insides. Melting her soul. It was like feeling Jean's energy – the Dark Phoenix's energy – pulsate through her that day so long ago.

She doesn't like to think about that day, nor the ones leading up to it. Certainly not the days, weeks, and months that followed. That time was one of grief and regret. It had spawned a bitter agony in her, one that she carries with her to this day. She had fought tooth and nail to escape those memories. She had run and run and run from them for nearly a decade now. And yet… here she is returning to the place, and to the people, she'd be so desperate to escape.

The other night, when James asked her if she wanted to go home, she had reacted with such vitriol. It was as though the mere suggestion brought bile up into her throat. And set loose a deep-rooted panic in her chest.

No, she does not want to go home.

Her hands curl tighter around the bike's grips, muscles aching with the claw-like tension. She wants to turn around. But…

 _"_ _Supernova. That should be your name."_

She remembers that conversation… now, as the cool wind rushes over her, through her, all around her. It's no longer lurking in her subconscious as the remnant of a recent dream. She _remembers_.

 _"_ _Stars, like everything else, eventually die."_

She blinks furiously, feeling multiple dreams – multiple _memories_ – swirl around inside her head, bleeding into one another. The warmth of Jean beside her as they lay beneath the calm night sky. The churn of water as is flows into the trunk and wraps around her. An indecipherable burn in her chest as she tries to breath… to scream.

 _"_ _But when a particularly massive star dies – I mean one that's twenty times more massive than our sun – then the explosion can be… cataclysmic. That's a supernova. And a supernova can outshine entire galaxies. It can put out more energy than you could ever dream possible."_

She hugs a particularly tight turn, the bike fishtailing just the slightest bit beneath her as her hands clench so hard around the grips that she can almost feel her bones cracking. 

_"_ _The core becomes its own new star. A neutron star. That star just keeps… It keeps folding in on itself… until it becomes…"_

She's folding in on herself now. That's what this is… this… this… _madness_. She's folding in on herself, on her way to becoming nothing more than a black hole.

All of the dreams, all of the memories… they're all folding in, one on top of the next.

She's in that trunk, crying through the water long after the comms crackle out. She's standing beside Scott's empty grave, feeling the softest trickle of warmth slide into her soul. She's laughing and joking and smoking cigarettes at the far end of the property with Bobby and John and… _not_ Anna. She's in her lab, late at night, dancing with Bruce while Tony looks on, unable to hide his amusement. She's crying herself to sleep in a room with twelve other small, orphaned girls. She's wrapped up in James' arms as he looks into her eyes and tells her she's beautiful.

She's laying beneath a blanket of stars with Jean.

 _"_ _They recently discovered that supernovas, just before they explode, they vibrate and hum. Sometimes I can feel you vibrating. Sometimes I can hear you hum."_

 _Hum_. She remembers a _hum_.

She's in the catacombs of Muir Island, searching for Kevin – _who's Kevin?_ – the dull hum reverberating through her brain.

She's in a cold bed, on the medical floor at the school, the Professor's face looming over hers as his hands rest at her temples. The hum is deafening now. She can barely make out his words. _"It will all be over soon enough, my dear."_

 _Huuuuuuummmmmmm._

She's in the Professor's office, studying his grim face as he tells her that her brother's gone. That Jean Grey killed him. That she must be stopped.

 _"_ _You know what must be done,"_ he tells her. _"You're the only one who can do it. Anna, it must be you."_

"Anna," she whispers, the sound lost on the wind as she blows blindly around another turn in the road.

000

She's in an ambulance, the paramedic gently pushing her back down to the gurney as she strains to rise. "Try to stay calm," he says to her, loud and slow. "You were in a motorcycle accident."

She blinks once, then twice, as she settles back down on the cot. Her mind is still, quiet, save the few questions bleeding into her consciousness, slow as honey. _An accident? What was she doing? Where was she going? How could this happen?_

She remembers nothing.


	50. Told You So

"Crossbones?" Sam ekes out with a hearty chuckle. "What, you pissed him off so bad, he decided to become a pirate?"

Steve lets out an irritated sigh and rolls his eyes. "This is serious." He looks around the room, making brief eye contact with each and every person at the table. Sam clears his throat as he tries to hide his amusement. Bucky doesn't even bother trying to hide his as he smirks brazenly. Wanda sits stark upright, taking in every word that the Captain speaks. And Natasha just sits there, looking bored as shit. "Rumlow has extensive training, years of counter-espionage experience, and high-ranking contacts within both SHIELD and Hydra. So if he actually is this _Crossbones_ mercenary… I think we should all be worried."

"Why?," Bucky snarks. "It's not like he was a megalomaniacal prick with plans to rule the world _before_ you burned his face off and turned him into an angry pirate."

"He's probably coming for you, Steve," Natasha mutters with a smirk. "Just looking for a way to drag you down to Davy Jones' locker."

"You guys are hilarious," he says, standing up and reaching over the table to activate another holographic screen. "We have reason to believe he's in Africa… not sure where exactly." He pulls up some photos of the man they believe is Brock Rumlow. He's disguised in what looks to be leather and metal armor, a skull-shaped metal helmet encasing his face. He stands next to a much larger man who's wearing a black and gold dashiki and an all-too-cheery countenance. "This guy," he points out, "is known as the Black Mamba."

Sam scoffs. " _Black_ Mamba? Really? We gotta stop letting white dudes come up with code names."

Steve closes his eyes briefly, as though praying for patience, before continuing on. "He's been a big player in human trafficking, working all down the western coast of Africa. This picture was taken about three weeks ago in Sierra Leone." He flips off the hologram and gives the group his best _shape up or ship out_ stare. "This is the first intel we've gotten on Rumlow in over a year. I want to know what he's doing and _why_ he's doing it."

"And you want us to figure it out," Natasha finishes with a raised eyebrow.

"Actually, I want the new team to figure it out," he says with a crooked smile. "Have them do the research, dig through travel records, witness testimony. Tell them to get in contact with anyone they know who can give us further intel. Put together recon missions, if needed."

"So you want us to walk the new guys through setting up an entire operation," Bucky drawls out. "You do realize that'll take twice as long as just doing it ourselves?"

"They need to learn," he replies, a small glint in his eye. "And they can't learn if we don't teach them." He turns back to the rest of the team and claps his hands together. "So, let's put together a lesson plan."

At least three times over the next two hours, Steve's phone buzzes on the table in the corner. Each time he ignores it, convinced it's Tony prank calling him again. But when Natasha's phone goes off in her back pocket, she gladly welcomes the distraction. She doesn't even bother apologizing as she picks it up and saunters out of the room, giving Steve a smug smile on her way out while he continues to drone on to the group of barely awake, bored-out-of-their-minds Avengers.

"Tess, you have the best timing," she mutters into the cell as she crosses over to the wall of windows outside the conference room. Her voice is low, even though she's in an empty hall – you never know who could be lurking and listening. "Actually, an hour or two ago would've been better."

"Don't freak out."

Natasha pulls herself away from the wall and stands upright, suddenly on alert. "Why would I freak out?" she asks in a calm and measured tone. Her body language may show that she's concerned, but she works to keep her friend from hearing it on the other end of the phone. "Something up?" She hears a small, tired huff followed by a brief silence. "Tessa?"

"I was in a _little_ accident."

Natasha releases a breath she wasn't even aware she'd been holding. It's kind of sad really, to be relieved that your friend was in an accident. But in their line of work – and just with their luck – it could've been something much, much worse. "Well, you're talking to me, so I'm assuming you're not dead."

"Not yet."

"Are you hurt?"

Another beat of silence. "I think the Ducati's totaled." Her words are slightly slurred, Natasha just now realizes. And slow, like she's having trouble articulating her thoughts. "I don't know what happened," she issues out, ending with a warble.

Natasha feels her shoulders stiffen. "You were on the bike?" This time, concern does shine through her voice. "You were in an accident while on your _bike_?"

"Yeah," she breathes out, almost a whisper. Then, again, "I don't know what happened."

"But you're hurt?" she repeats, an obvious urgency to her voice. "How badly are you hurt?"

She can almost see Tessa chewing on her bottom lip, debating what to say. "My leg's broken," she mutters finally, sounding almost defeated. "It's pretty bad, actually."

Nat closes her eyes and drops her head as she begins pinching the base of her nose. "Okay," she says simply, getting her thoughts together. Her head shoots up suddenly. "Wait… why are you calling me? I mean…"

"They tried Steve. He's still my emergency contact." She pulls in a long breath. "I would've told them not to… if they asked," she mumbles, a hint of annoyance to her voice. "They asked who else they could contact and I told them I'd call you. I didn't want them making the call. I didn't want you to freak out."

She sighs and looks up at the vaulted ceiling. "I guess it's a good thing Steve didn't answer. He's probably the last person you'd want knowing that you got into a motorcycle accident," she says with a small chuckle. "He's never gonna let you live this down." She pauses only briefly. "You want me to tell Barnes?"

"Yeah," Tessa replies meekly. "I didn't want to… I couldn't… but I…" Natasha can tell she's struggling not to cry. "I don't know what happened. I…"

"It's okay," she tells her, tone suddenly soft and tender. "Just… tell me where you are."

000[LS1]

She's been in the ER for just over two hours, and it's almost enough to get her to quit medicine altogether. "I get it now," she mumbles, watching the slow drip from the IV.

"What's that, hon?" the nurse asks her. Tessa rolls her eyes. The woman is clearly younger than her, small and blonde and seemingly fresh out of middle school. So the _hon_ is a bit much to take.

"I get why people hate doctors." Her head flops back onto the pillow behind her and the young nurse smiles shyly as she moves to plump it for her.

"Well," she says, turning to leave "as long as you don't hate nurses."

She glares at the chipper young woman and nearly growls. "Send another idiot intern in here to put in a catheter and I'll hate you most of all."

The smile quickly falls from the girl's face, replaced by a look of abject fear.

"Dr. Sullivan?" Nurse Jenkins chides as she enters. "Are you harassing my nurses?"

"Never," she says, feigning innocence. Tessa had known Abigail Jenkins for years… she was the head nurse in Mercy's ER when she did her rotation here, so long ago. At the time, Tessa had probably been even younger than the stricken girl standing in front of her now, and Nurse Jenkins was just as protective of her then. Seeing the older woman's familiar face when she came in on a gurney a few hours earlier might've just been the sweetest sight ever.

"Good. Because she's the one who's keeping your morphine flowing right now," she claims with a smile. The young nurse slips out behind her without so much as an acknowledgment, clearly just wanting to get as far away as possible. Nurse Jenkins comes closer, leans over Tessa and straightens the gown around her shoulders, pulls the sheet a bit further down to cover her bruised left thigh and at least some of the braced, elevated leg. "You have visitors," she whispers to her, giving her hand a small squeeze. "One of them looks an awful lot like _Captain America_."

"Great," she mutters, writhing and twisting as though she can burrow deep enough into the hospital bed to disappear. Of course, she can't move much while in traction, so she has to settle for just hiding her face behind her hands.

"Stop that," the older woman says with a laugh, playfully smacking her shoulder. "Should I let them in?" When she doesn't respond, the nurse levels her with a serious, almost reprimanding stare. "They seem pretty worried."

She peeks one eye through her fingers and mumbles, "Fine," before dropping her hands and collapsing back into the bed.

She's not sure what to expect, nor _who_ to expect, really. Obviously Nat would bring James. But Steve is here too? That felt a bit like a cheap shot. She stares up at the ceiling, not at all surprised to see that it looks to be turning in slow circles around her. " _Morphine_ ," she breathes out sluggishly.

"Just a little accident, huh?" she hears Natasha say. She looks up and sees the redhead, arms crossed, crooked smirk, standing at the foot of her bed. "They said you were air lifted here." Steve looms over her right shoulder, a stricken look on his face. Bucky almost knocks into her as rushes past, on his way to Tessa's side.

The moment she sees Bucky she struggles to pull herself upright and appear… less broken. "Hey," she squeaks out, ignoring the others in the room.

" _Hey_?" he questions. He reaches for her hand, but stops himself when he sees the deep, raw scrapes that cover almost her entire forearm. He gives her a hesitant look and his lips part as though he's about to speak. But no words come out.

She gazes up at him and offers a crooked smile. "You aren't fooling anybody," she says, words tired and a bit garbled. "You with your gloves. The two of you, with those stupid baseball caps." She shoots Steve a droll glare, but quickly averts her eyes when she sees the pained look on his face.

"We didn't really have time to plan a disguise," Bucky tells her, finally snaking his gloved metal fingers around hers. His grip is loose, as though he's afraid she might break in his grasp.

She twists her hand in his and easily entwines their fingers together. Then she leans in and whispers, "That _is_ Steve's disguise."

He chuckles briefly before bringing his right hand up to her face. His fingertips gingerly brush over her forehead where a large bruise has begun to bloom. She can see the worry roll over his features, even as he continues to hold an unsteady smile for her. "You were wearing your helmet?"

"Of course I was," she says, reaching up to remove his hand. "I'm not an idiot." She tries to pull the glove off his fingers, but between the morphine and the slight concussion, she's having a good amount of trouble with it. So he does it himself, peeling off both gloves, not really caring if someone does see his left hand is metal.

From the end of her bed, she can hear Steve let out a long, heavy sigh. "I told you –" he starts slowly, only to stop short when he gets elbowed – hard – in the ribs by Natasha.

She turns to him. "What was the _one thing_ I told you not to say?"

Tessa cocks her head towards him, still talking only to Bucky. "Did you bring him here just so he could say _I told you so_?"

He shakes his head. "Doll, he's been saying it since Romanov told us what happened. I've had more than enough of it myself."

"Well, it wasn't my fault," she directs at Steve, who's still rubbing his throbbing ribcage. "I don't really remember what happened. But I know it wasn't my fault."

"Of course it wasn't," Nat says with a nod.

She looks back at Bucky and feels her eyes begin to water. "I think the bike… our love Ducati… I think she's gone."

He barks out a quick laugh, but his touch is slow and tender as he wipes away her tears. "Our love Ducati?" he asks with a grin. She merely nods.

"It's a shame you'll never have another," Steve pipes in, his voice very matter of fact. Every person in the room shoots him a vicious glare and he decides, "I'm going to go get a coffee. Nat? Buck?" They both nod in unison, having been trapped with him in a conference room most of the day being reason enough to down an entire pot of coffee.

"So," Natasha starts, coming around to the other side of her bed. "This is quite the setup." She studies the equipment around her – heart rate monitor, blood pressure cuff, IV stand – and flicks the pulse ox unit clipped on Tessa's finger before looking down at her with a single raised brow. "You said you broke your leg."

Tessa juts out her chin in a defiant stance. "I did."

"You said it like that was _all_ that happened." Nat's expression softens and she lets out a deep breath.

"You needed to read between the lines," she tells her with a smug smirk.

She shakes her head, looking up to the ceiling. "They flew you in," she states, her tone suddenly grave. "They wouldn't have done that if it weren't serious."

Tessa lets out a small sigh and tries for a shrug, her body nearly screaming at her not to move when she does so. "No trauma centers nearby," she says through clenched teeth. The pained grimace fades from her face as Bucky's thumb softly caresses the back of her hand. She looks back up at Natasha. "Doesn't mean it's serious… just means they thought it could be." She glances over at Bucky, notes the concerned frown on his face. "I interned here," she tells him lightly, eager to change the subject. "I remember Nurse Jenkins."

He smiles down at her, but says nothing.

"Is it serious?" Natasha asks from her other side.

Tessa slowly turns to face her, lips drawn in a firm line. Nat raises a challenging brow in response.

Bucky watches the exchange, rolling his eyes at the whole thing. He lets out a long sigh and positions himself on the edge of the bed so that he's hip to hip with Tessa as he faces her. "Why didn't you call me?" he asks softly.

Natasha takes the quiet, serious tone as a hint and backs away from the bed. "I'm going to go find your doctor so we can get a straight answer about what's going on here," she says.

They both watch in silence from the bed as she strolls out of the cubicle.

Bucky turns back to Tessa, moving his metal hand up to her cheek. She curls into it, as she so often does, but doesn't say a word. So he asks again, voice still gentle, "Why didn't you call me?"

Her eyes remain closed as she speaks, still nuzzling into his palm. "I didn't want to scare you."

"You thought hearing that you were in a motorcycle accident from someone else would be less scary?" he asks, pulling his hand away and giving her an incredulous look.

She shakes her head and gazes up at him with heavy-lidded, glassy eyes. "No," she says, her voice quiet but firm. "I don't know." She falls further back into the pillows behind her. " _I_ was scared," she says by way of an explanation. "It's different being the patient, being hurt… I didn't know… I couldn't think straight. And then Nurse Jenkins was here. And they gave me something…" She looks away for a moment, seemingly lost in thought as she works to remember the last few hours. He gives her hand a little squeeze to bring her back, and as soon as he does so, she locks glassy eyes with him. "If I called you… if I heard your voice… I'd probably cry. Or… I don't know… _melt_." As she says the words, tears begin to lazily spill from her eyes.

He lets out a small chuckle. "You know, I actually have a pretty good shoulder for crying on. Or _melting_ into," he says with a slight grin.

She begins shaking her head slowly. "No." And she shuts her eyes tightly as though willing the tears to stay put. "It would've freaked you out. And I didn't want to scare you," she repeats, final word coming out a bit strangled. "Not _again_."

He twists around and pulls himself bodily onto the bed beside her, bringing his legs up carefully as he leans his shoulder into the pillow by her head. Slowly, so as not to cause her to move too much, he sidles down next to her and brings her hand up to his lips. One soft kiss on her fingertips and he utters into the small space between them, "Look at me, please."

"No," she says with a petulant lilt.

He brings his hand up to her face, lightly runs his fingers over the uglier-by-the-minute bruise on her forehead before tracing down her temple, to her jaw, ending at her ear. He gives her lobe a small, playful tug. "Look at me."

She relents, sniffling as she opens her eyes and gazes at him.

He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away a few stray tears. "Don't you ever be afraid to call me. No matter what. Understand?" His words are commanding, but his voice is gentle. She nods once and curls deeper into him, dropping her head to his chest. He places his chin on her crown. "I mean it, baby."

"I know," she mumbles into him. "I just feel like I've made you worry so much. Too much."

"Yeah," he breathes into her hair. "It's been kind of a rough year."

Her head shoots up and she looks at him sorrowfully. "I'm sorry."

"None of it's your fault, baby." She raises a disbelieving brow at him and he chuckles. " _Most_ of it isn't your fault."

She settles back against him, sullen look still on her face. "I just… I don't want to hurt you. Not anymore."

"Yeah," he mutters absently. "I know." He feels her body press deeper into him, her hands grasping at his shirt as she tries to shift. She rolls her body a bit too far and lets out a pained sort of squeak. "Stop it," he tells her, leaning forward to get her into a better position. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Too late." He wraps both arms around her and holds her close, in part to comfort her, in part to comfort himself, and in part to keep her from moving around anymore and doing any more damage. "I'm going to need surgery," she tells him, her hand grasping tightly around his forearm. "My leg…"

"They told you that?"

She nods against him. "Two breaks and they're both pretty bad. _Crushing injury_. I'm supposed to get an MRI to see if anything's torn too." She lets out a long sigh, punctuated by a brief wince at the start. "Still waiting on the orthopedic surgeon. But… they'll have to surgically set it with rods and pins." She twists her neck and looks up at him with a small, sly smile. "I'll be part metal… like you."

"Aw, that's sweet," Natasha says as she strides in and makes a beeline for the two. "This is Dr. Borden," she tells Bucky in a rush, indicating the older woman to her left. "I already told her that you're Tessa's fiancé, so…"

Bucky cocks his head at her quizzically, but says nothing to the redhead. "Doctor," he greets, pulling himself upright and swinging his legs off the bed to stand before her.

Dr. Borden extends her hand to him and he shakes it firmly. She has a matter-of-fact look about her, straight stance, expressionless face. Her long, honey colored hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail and she's wearing black slacks and a button down beneath her lab coat. The woman just seems to ooze confidence. "Mister…?" she inquires politely.

Tessa answers before he can. "It's James. His name is James." She gives his left hand a quick squeeze, and he's not sure if she's trying to be reassuring or to tell him not to open his damn mouth. But she doesn't so much as spare him a glance as she focuses on the doctor. "Your intern took 45 minutes to put in a catheter."

The doctor's straight lips quirk up a bit at the corner. "You're being dramatic," she states as she steps around to the other side of the bed.

"You have a catheter in?" Bucky asks.

"I had to pee," she says, cautious gaze following Dr. Borden as she looks over her vitals.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the internal bleeding," Nat quips.

Tessa's eyes grow wide. "You told her?"

"Your sister was worried about you," the doctor says evenly, looking down at the chart on her tablet. Tessa glares at Natasha, on to her game. The redhead merely raises her brows as if in a challenge. "But your pressure looks good and overall –"

"I'm sorry," Bucky interrupts, a confused sort of grimace on his face. "Internal bleeding?"

"Yes, as I explained to Dr. Borden, your lovely fiancée was obviously withholding information about her condition from her loving and supportive family," Natasha replies with a saccharine smile.

Tessa rolls her eyes, and for her part, Dr. Borden heaves a dramatic sigh, not at all impressed or amused by the quirky family dynamic unfolding before her. "Perhaps she just wanted the attending on call, that being me, to explain the situation."

"There is no _situation_. My leg is broken. I'm slightly concussed. I have a _bruised_ kidney."

"The CT showed some hemorrhaging," the doctor says to Bucky, simply talking over Tessa. "But it may clear up on its own. For now, we just want to monitor her vitals, and her urine output, and see where that takes us."

"Where that takes us?" he asks, completely bewildered.

"Surgery is a possibility. If the bleeding continues, and if it's confined to the left kidney, then we'll likely just remove the organ." Bucky's mouth falls agape, his face paling. But the doctor just waves her hand dismissively. "People live long, healthy lives with one kidney. No biggie."

"No biggie," Natasha repeats with amusement.

Tessa squeezes his hand again and gives it a little tug so that he looks down at her. "That won't happen," she whispers to him. "I'm fine. Really."

Natasha meanders towards the other side of the bed and stretches her neck to see the bag the doctor was just inspecting. "Is that urine, or just plain blood?" she asks about the red liquid.

" _Natasha_ ," Tessa groans with as much venom as her tired body can muster.

Nat takes a step back and throws her hands up in the air in surrender. "Tell me, doctor," she starts, never dropping eye contact with her friend, "is it true that doctors make the _worst_ patients?"

Dr. Borden reattaches the bag to the side of the bed and nods. "Absolutely," she replies, no mirth to her voice whatsoever. "It's true of all of us. I myself was recently chided by a resident for setting my own fingers after a rock climbing incident."

"Rock climbing," she mutters, looking the woman up and down assessingly. "I can see that."

The doctor merely nods before returning to the task at hand. "It's no surprise, the amount of blood evident in her urine currently. This was a serious accident."

"How serious?" Bucky asks, an edge to his voice.

"Two broken ribs, a fractured collar bone, concussion, and _possible_ kidney damage," Natasha interjects. "Oh, and of course the multiple leg fractures."

"Two," Tessa corrects. "Not multiple."

"Dr. Hammond, our orthopedic specialist was in a surgery across town. But she should be here shortly to give more insight into what needs to be done to repair the tib-fib fractures." She looks at Bucky with a pursed sort of countenance. "I'm certain that surgery will be required, but beyond that, I really haven't the expertise to say. As for the rest, yes, it's just as her sister said." She sighs, long and loud. "She's very lucky, your fiancée. Motorcycle accidents are very often fatal. Had she not been wearing her helmet, or had she even just been struck at a different angle, we might be having a very different conversation right now."

"Thank you, Dr. Doom-and-Gloom," Tessa intones. "If everything seems fine now, though… You mind?"

Dr. Borden simply nods and turns to exit, neatly side stepping to avoid Steve as he returns with three coffee cups in hand. "Was that the doctor?" he asks. "What did she say?"

Natasha shrugs, taking one of the cups from him. "Could've been worse."

Steve moves over to the bed and hands a coffee to Bucky, who reaches for it slowly, his brain still reeling, working to make sense of all of the information he just so quickly received. "Well, yeah, I'm sure it could've been worse. But what did she say?"

Tessa sighs dramatically. "My leg has to be surgically reset. We're just waiting on the ortho. They're still monitoring me to see if the _very small_ amount of internal bleeding I have continues. I'll probably be here for a few days. At least." She cocks a single brow in his direction. "Some of us need more than a quick power nap to heal broken bones."

Steve raises his eyebrows as he soaks that all in. He pulls the lid off his steaming coffee and takes a cautious sip as he lowers himself down onto the foot of her bed. "Well," he says finally, coy smile perking his lips, "I don't want to say I told you so. But…"

"Shut up," Bucky tells him firmly, a look very much akin to pure rage rolling over his features.

"Oh, you should probably know," Natasha interjects, waving her hand at the couple. "They're engaged."

"Sorry, what?" Steve sputters.

Tessa turns to look up at Bucky, who's still glaring daggers at his friend. "Yeah, where's my ring?" she asks with a small lilt.

He turns to her, angry countenance immediately dissipating. "In my sock drawer," he replies softly with a wink before looking back to Steve. "Natasha told the doctor that so she'd share Tessa's medical info with us."

"Yes, I'm also her sister," she explains. Then, giving the Captain a bit of a pout, "I have no explanation for you."

"No one does," Bucky quips as he settles back in beside his girl.


	51. Broken Leg and a Bucket of Crazy

Tessa's first surgery takes hours. Bucky spends most of that time pacing the hall and wringing his hands in sullen silence. He's never felt so… helpless. It doesn't matter that he has Steve there to tell him, "She's gonna be fine."

Tony's assurances that, "Dr. Hammond's the best ortho on the east coast. I made sure of it," oddly, provide even less comfort.

All that he knows – all that he _feels_ – as the minutes tick by, is that she's in there being sliced open by a stranger while he's out here doing… nothing.

"I don't know what it is you think you _could_ be doing," Steve tells him with a crooked grin.

Bucky shoots him a dirty look. "That's not the point," he growls out, spinning on his heel and heading over to a chair in the corner of the waiting room. The moment he drops into it, his head falls back against the wall behind him and a long, exhausted breath leaves his body.

"I know," Steve offers with a penitent look. He rises from his seat and crosses over to sit next to his friend. "I'm sorry."

Bucky continues to stare blankly at the ceiling, blinking slowly as he thinks about what to say. He's pissed off. Steve's mere presence is causing a sort of grating feeling in his gut. He knows he means well. He knows he's only joking around to try and lighten the mood. He knows he's here right now because he cares – both about him and about Tessa. But he just can't seem to get that _I told you so_ out of his head. "You should be," he says finally. "You should be really damn sorry."

For a long moment, Steve is silent. He just stares at the side of Bucky's face, a somberness washing over him. He doesn't want to apologize again. He shouldn't have to. He was right, after all. He had said, nearly a year ago, that the Ducati was a bad idea, and he was _right_. But…

He's about to open his mouth to say… something when Dr. Hammond sneaks up and clears her throat from beside them. Both heads swivel in unison, Bucky shooting up to stand before her. "How'd it go?" he asks with obvious hesitation.

"Well," she starts, pulling in a deep breath. "Not everything went entirely to plan. We've stabilized the fractures, though they were worse than the initial X-rays made it seem. But there's significant damage to the external ligaments, and repairing them is going to take a more extensive approach." She goes on to say that there's only so much reconstruction they can do at this point. While she's confident that they can ultimately repair the leg – "There seems to be only limited soft tissue damage and little-to-no nerve involvement" – it will require at minimum one more surgery, probably another two or even three.

Bucky nods along with her, not at all certain of the what she's actually saying, but very clearly making out her statement regarding additional surgeries. "When?" he asks, brow furrowed. "When would you… operate again?"

"I'd want to wait until she fully stabilizes," she says with a small, not-at-all-reassuring smile. "The bones are in place. Her blood vessels all look good. We'll still monitor her, of course, but I'm not really concerned about any sort of compartment syndrome taking place. I'd rather not put her under again until we've seen improvement in renal function."

Steve shakes his head as an uncharacteristically quiet Tony re-enters the room and saunters over. "What does that mean?"

Dr. Hammond turns to face him. "It means that we can put off the next surgery for a couple of days while her kidney, and the rest of her body, heals." She looks back to Bucky before Tony gets a chance to ask about this _next surgery_ , and she offers, "I can take you to see her in the recovery room, if you like." He gives her a short nod and she says to the others, "You can see her once we get her settled into a room."

He follows the doctor up to the recovery suite, still nodding along as she explains aspects of the injury and the procedure that he simply cannot wrap his brain around. _Hopefully you'll understand, doll_ , he thinks to himself, certain that Tessa will ask for all of the details once she's awake enough to do so.

Dr. Hammond leads him into a curtained-off area and he stops short, his stomach lurching just a bit as he sees Tessa laid out before him. She seems so small in that narrow bed, so sick, so helpless… hooked up to all of the beeping machines. The IV in her arm is held in place with a board wrapped in gauze because – as the doctor quickly explains when she sees him gingerly reach out to touch it – Tessa had tried to tried to pull the IV out when they first sedated her. And her leg, her left leg, sits propped up with a sort of halo around it, metal rods extending into her flesh. Some of the dressings have blood seeping through. He tries to keep from looking down at the leg, focusing instead on her face. But the bruise on her forehead seems to have to grown and deepened in color, and though she's still mostly unconscious, her face looks to be contorted in pain.

"We're starting her on a steady drip of Dilaudid," the doctor tells him. "But she may still feel some discomfort as she wakes." And with that, Dr. Hammond gives his hand a quick pat and scurries from the room.

 _Some discomfort_?

He steps closer to her, runs the fingers of his right hand delicately down the side of her face. "Hey, baby," he says gently as she begins to stir. Her eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly. "You gonna wake up, doll?" he asks with just the hint of smile.

She blinks slowly a few times, working to focus her eyes. Then, without warning, her shoulders jerk forward as she attempts to lurch upright. He moves to still her, reaching his arm out to press her back into the bed. But the moment he does so, a torrent of vomit spills from her mouth.

He regrets doing it, sure, but his knee jerk reaction isn't to comfort her or to quell her discomfort. No, the reaction he has is to immediately jump back, recoiling in both shock and disgust.

"Oh no," he hears from the doorway, turning to find a petite blonde woman in scrubs making her way over to the bed. She grabs a small basin and holds it under Tessa's chin with one hand while she slides her other arm behind her back to help steady her as she continues to gasp and wretch. "It happens sometimes," she says simply, patting her back. "Just a reaction to the anesthesia."

Bucky stands there, stark still for what seems like forever. Utter shock and confusion are etched into his face. He unconsciously holds his hands out in front of him, bile dripping from his arm onto the tile floor. The nurse gazes over at him and says, in a high-pitched voice that makes him feel like he fell into a very peculiar sort of Disney movie, "Are you all right, hon?"

He pulls in a quick breath and nods. "Yeah, sorry," he says stepping back over to the bed. "Sorry," he breathes out, looking down at Tessa's pale, drawn face.

"Here you go, hon," the nurse says as she hands him a cloth to wipe his hands. "Why don't you go clean yourself up and I'll get her changed," she offers with a wink.

He looks to Tessa, inquiring with his eyes if she's okay with that. But all she does is blink exhaustedly and spit some more into the basin. His face curls up and he nods, lets out a small, "Yeah," before heading for the bathroom.

When he returns, the same nurse hands him a new basin and tells him in an all too cheery tone, "Be prepared. It'll pass, but she might blow a few more times first."

Bucky's head swivels as his eyes follow her out of the room. He still feels a bit bewildered, his brain lost in an all too muddled haze of fatigue and worry and confusion. He feels a small tug on his sleeve and he looks down to find two very familiar green eyes gazing up at him. And all at once, the fog seems to lift away. "Hey there," he says with a smile.

"Did I throw up on you?" she asks, her voice hoarse, cracking at the edges.

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, you did."

"But you came back," she says, her words slow and slightly garbled. She blinks up at him, her normally bright green eyes glassy and dull.

"Of course I did," he says with a frown as he reaches out and smooths the hair from her forehead.

He climbs into the narrow bed beside her, only just able to sit on the very edge. "I might need that again," she tells him, pointing to the basin as she swallows hard.

He moves the bowl closer to her. "Just tell me when," he says, dropping his metal hand behind her to rub slow, soothing circles into her back.

Once the anti-nausea meds finally start to work, they move her into her own room – a big private room with a huge window that gives an amazing view of the city. But the Dilauded, while dulling the pain, makes her irritable and, as she puts it, _itchy_. He stays the night with her, almost growling at the charge nurse when she enters to tell him that he has to go. But Tony, in addition to arranging for the best room in the hospital, uses his influence to get them to allow Bucky to stay.

So that first night, and most of the next morning, is spent with him perched beside her, wiping away her pained and anxious tears and whispering to her the only things he can think to say, "I know, baby. I'm sorry. So sorry. It'll get better. I promise."

It doesn't take long for those oft-repeated words to lose all meaning.

They finally replace the Dilaudid with morphine, which makes her a bit less anxious and irritable. But even though her dose is high enough to ensure that she's in and out of consciousness most of the time, she's not able to _really_ sleep. So, of course, neither is he. And the exhaustion and frustration – from both of them – are starting to show.

"Please go home," Tessa tells him, rolling as far as she can onto her side. The movement causes her to wince, but still she continues to shift, desperate to find some semblance of comfort.

He rises from his spot in the small recliner by the window and strides over to her. "Why are you so eager to get rid of me?" he asks, using one hand to still her shoulder as she continues to try and roll. The other hand falls to her temple, gently pushing back the hair that lies cemented to her forehead.

"M'not," she mumbles pathetically, turning her face into the pillow. She lets out a small groan and actually bites the pillow as she tries to pull her right leg further up.

"Stop it, baby," he begs, lightly pushing her back onto her back. " _Please_."

"Noooo," she moans pitifully.

"I'm one step away from having you restrained," he tells her when she angrily slaps away the hand at her shoulder.

"I can't get comfortable. I can't _move_ ," she whines.

If it weren't for the new tears blossoming in her tired, red-rimmed eyes, he would've scoffed at her and told her to grow a pair. Instead he says all that his exhausted brain will allow. "I know."

"I'm losing my mind!" she shrieks, letting out a small thrash that leaves her breathless.

"Hey," he commands, holding her down firmly. "I'm serious. Stop. Moving."

She looks up at him dazedly, almost as though she's slowly waking from a deep sleep. "You should go home," she says again, slower and more serious than the first time. He just stares at her, unwilling to let her shoulders go, afraid that she'll start twisting around again and cause herself more pain. "You look terrible."

He laughs then, a single, loud chuckle that burns at his throat as it rasps out. "Let me get you a mirror, doll," he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

She frowns at him, not at all sharing in his amusement. "That's not nice."

"What's not nice? Is he mistreating you again?" They turn to the door in unison and watch as Sam saunters in, an enormous bouquet of brightly colored mylar balloons in his hand. "I tried to tell you he's no good," he says with a smile and a wink.

"Shut up," Bucky issues out, rising from the side of the bed and grabbing the balloons to shove them in the corner of the giant room.

"Ouch," Sam intones. "I see what you mean."

He walks over and leans down to give her a peck on the cheek. "You don't look so bad to me," he drawls out, laying his hand atop hers.

She settles back into the pillows, allowing herself to pull just the smallest amount of soothing, reassuring energy from him. "Thanks," she says meekly, craning her neck around him to see Steve lurking just outside the door. "What's with him?" she asks Sam, cocking her head in Steve's direction.

He tosses a glance back over his shoulder. "Oh him? He's probably just scared that you'll puke on him again."

She scrunches up her nose. "I didn't… did I?"

Sam laughs as he straightens. "Nah, not really. But you were pretty sick and out of it after the surgery yesterday. I think it freaked him out a little."

"Were you here yesterday?" she asks, her eyebrows knit together in thought as she tries to recall.

"Just for a bit." He looks over his shoulder and sees that Bucky's leaning in the doorway now too, his back turned as he talks to Steve.

"How's she doing?" Steve asks as he peers over to look in on Tessa. She catches his gaze and offers a weak wave, which he returns in kind.

Bucky shakes his head and pulls his hand down the length of his exhausted face. "She's in pain," he reports blandly. He twists his head back around to look at her. "She can't get comfortable," he mutters with a shrug. "She's driving me _crazy_."

Steve lets out a small laugh. "Well, that's not surprising."

Bucky just shakes his head. "We're probably gonna be here a while," he says with a yawn. "Next surgery's scheduled for tomorrow morning." A deep frown takes over his face. "If she comes out of that one like she did the last…" He takes a deep breath and absently shakes his head again.

Steve huffs out a breath that almost sounds more like a groan. "How long are they thinking she'll be here?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Well," he says with a small, sad smile. "I know you're not gonna want to hear this, pal, but if it's going to be a while, you _need_ to go get some rest."

He leans heavily onto the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He knows this… of course, he knows. But… "I can't," he says, twisting his head to gaze back over at his girl. "I can't leave her."

"Buck," Steve protests weakly.

"Did she leave my side?" he shoots back at him. "When I was hurt?" He watches as Steve stiffens in front of him. "She stayed the whole time," he says, a certain finality to his voice.

"That was different. We thought you might die," he tries. " _And_ , she's way more stubborn than you are."

Bucky cocks a questioning brow at him. "You think you can convince me to go?" he says, his tone challenging.

"I'm sure as hell gonna try," he counters with a tight laugh. Steve glances over Bucky's shoulder at Tessa, his expression dropping a bit as he gazes at her. She looks pale, her pallor made even worse by the contrast of the deep blues and purples of the bruise on her head. He can tell from here that her normally light green eyes are dark and dull. Her fingers are twisting into the sheet at her side and he can't tell if it's just plain fidgeting or a cover for the pain that he knows is plaguing her. "One of us will stay with her," he tells Bucky. "Tony already said he'd come by before he leaves for Sri Lanka in the morning."

"What's he doing in Sri Lanka?" Bucky asks, voice sounding more annoyed than curious.

He shrugs. "Who knows. "Nat and Bruce should be by a bit later too."

"She needs to rest," Bucky almost chides. And Steve can't help but snigger at the serious, reproachful look on his face.

"You sound – and _look_ – just like your ma," he says, barking out a quick laugh when the warning expression intensifies.

"I'm serious," he counters.

Steve nods his head, swallowing down what remains of his amusement. "I know," he tells him solemnly. "We all know." He drops his hand to Bucky's shoulder and gives him a firm squeeze. "I'm just telling you that we're all here. For her and for you. You don't have to do this all yourself."

His eyes widen a bit as he asks, "Does that mean you're gonna take turns having her stay with you? Because keeping her from hurting herself once she's home is actually my bigger worry."

"You mean keeping _yourself_ from hurting her when she drives you nuts?" he asks with a sly grin.

Bucky sighs and slumps further against the doorframe. "She's just the _worst_ patient." He drops his face into his hands and mumbles, "You know what she's like when she's got a cold. How am I gonna handle this?"

"I honestly don't know," Steve says, giving him another quick pat before dropping his hand and glancing back over at Tessa. "Listen," he starts after a moment. "I need to talk to you about something." Bucky looks up and raises a weary brow. "I talked to the police. About the accident."

"What about it?" he asks, his attention piqued.

"You do know that I'm still listed as her emergency contact," he states with a hint of amusement. "You should probably get her to update that… you know, since you two are _engaged_ and all."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "What about the accident?"

"Right," he sputters, replacing the grin on his face with a somber frown. "Well, that's why they called _me_ anyway. But… did she tell you where she was going?"

"That morning?" Steve nods. Bucky shakes his head. "No. The city, I thought. To work."

He lets out a long sigh. "She was up near Chester."

His face twists in confusion. "That's the opposite direction."

"Yeah, I know." He gives Bucky an assessing look. "She really didn't say anything?"

He raises his eyebrows and lets out a small huff before running a hand through his hair. "No, nothing. But that morning…" He shakes his head. "It was a weird morning."

"What does that mean?" he asks, brows knitting together.

"Just… she had a nightmare. We woke up around four, went for a walk. Never did go back to bed." He looks over at Steve with sad, regretful eyes. "Honestly… she'd spent the past couple of weeks taking care of me. I know she had a ton of work to catch up on. You know she had a migraine the night before… She was exhausted. She probably… I don't know." He seems to almost fold in on himself when he says, "She probably shouldn't have been out on the bike at all."

Steve nods slowly. "Police report says she took a turn too fast, swung out and slammed into the side of an oncoming vehicle. They think she was going about 20 over the speed limit. There are some pretty tight and windy roads up there."

Bucky runs a hand down his face. " _Jesus_ ," he says, tone exasperated.

"I don't know if it even matters," Steve says a bit hesitantly. "Maybe it doesn't. But… she really hasn't been herself lately… you know?" He locks eyes with Bucky, frowning at the concern and fatigue he sees in his dull gray orbs. "I mean, sometimes she's fine. But…"

"Since the thing with Lobe," he finishes.

"Since I let her get in that trunk," Steve corrects. "Since I let her drown."

Bucky looks up at him. He wants to tell him not to say it like that. He wants to tell him, for the hundredth time, that it wasn't his fault, not entirely at least. But he honestly doesn't have the energy right now to say much of anything at all.

"Anyway," Steve goes on with a small shrug. "I guess I was just thinking…" He chews his lip briefly. "Did Tess tell you how old she was when she first learned to ride?"

He gives him a bit of a confused glare, unsure what that has to do with anything. "No."

"She was twelve." He shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle. "Said one of her teachers taught her, mostly just to piss off her brother."

"Okay," he drawls out, still rather puzzled.

"Then when her brother found out, he decided to teach her too… to undo any bad habits."

"Steve…"

"She's been riding motorcycles for more than half her life, Buck. She's been riding since before she could drive. When I met her, she had this beat-up piece of junk… she said her brother gave it to her when she turned sixteen." He turns and brings himself to his full height, almost towering over Bucky as he slouches in the doorway. "I know I said the Ducati was a bad idea. But that's because I don't trust other people on the road, especially in the city. _Not_ because I don't trust Tessa."

"Steve, I told you, she was exhausted."

"Come on, man. I've seen her give Natasha stitches – perfect stitches – after spending 48 straight hours with Tony in his lab. We used to have dinner every Friday and go for a run Sunday morning. And half the time, when I'd meet her in her office before our run, she'd be wearing the same clothes I left her in after dinner. If there's _one_ person we know who's capable of functioning – at a high level – on almost no sleep, it's Tessa."

"I don't know what you want me to say here," he issues out in a weary tone.

"I don't want you to _say_ anything," he tells him. "I just want you to know what happened. _I_ want to know what happened."

"Yeah, okay," he breathes out, sounding more than a bit resigned. "But…" He shakes his head. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't – " He stops short, an odd expression taking over his face. "Actually," he says slowly. "Actually, she did say that an old friend came to see her at the tower the other day."

"An old friend?"

He nods, straightening upright. "Yeah, someone she grew up with. She said he wanted her to come home."

"Home?"

"The place she grew up…" He cocks his head to the side in thought. "That was somewhere upstate, right?"

Steve pulls in a sharp breath. "Yeah, somewhere. You think she was going there?"

He turns in the doorway to gaze back at Tessa. She still looks awful, but Sam's got her smiling, even laughing a bit. "She said no," he mutters. "I asked her if she wanted to go, and she said no like I had asked her if she wanted to get a flu shot."

Steve sighs, glancing over at Tessa. "How can a doctor be so against getting the flu shot?" he asks with a shake of the head. He looks back to Bucky. "Maybe she changed her mind? You said it was a weird morning…"

"Yeah," he mutters absently. "Maybe."


	52. Sparks

"I missed an interview," Tessa issues out the minute Tony and Bruce arrive at the hospital. She immediately turns away from Wanda, who'd been distracting her with stories about the former FBI agent she's been working with at the compound, and struggles to sit up straight as they enter her room. "I was so out of it yesterday… I missed an interview."

Tony blows past Steve and Bucky, shoving a couple of giant greasy bags into their hands as he moves over to Tessa's side. "No, _hello, Tony. Nice of you to drop by, Tony_?" Wanda climbs off the edge of the bed as he casually shoos her away. "Honestly is it always about work with you?"

"Yes," she says simply.

"I even brought you food," he says, indicating the bags that the super soldiers are busy rifling through behind him.

Bucky shakes his head as he palms a giant burger, handing it over to Sam. "She can't eat any of this."

"Fine," Tony replies, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I brought food for everyone else."

"Tony," she ekes out. And it's perhaps the most pathetic he's ever heard his name uttered. "I _really_ liked this guy."

His brows knit together in confusion. "What guy? That guy?" he asks, flipping his thumb back behind him towards Bucky. "Tell me you're finally over _that_ guy."

"She means Eddie Ramos," Bruce says with a sigh as he meanders over to the opposite side of her bed. "The guy from the interview?"

"What interview?"

Tessa's eyes widen and her hand shoots out to grab Tony's wrist, tightening around it and giving him a firm shake. "The interview I missed!"

"Oh, that." He flaps a dismissive hand through the air. "Yeah, yeah. I had your assistant clear your schedule for the next week."

Bucky steps up and looms just over Tony's shoulder. "Week?"

"Why are you so close to me?" he asks, turning to the soldier with an irritated glare. "Go eat your food. The adults are talking."

Bruce, seeing Bucky's face turn stony, quickly issues out, "Tony, play nice," in a rather warning tone.

"Wait," Tessa mutters, effectively ignoring the tension surrounding her. "Not Maureen… You had Maureen clear my schedule?"

Tony drops the unblinking scowl he'd been sharing with Bucky and turns back to Tessa. "Who the hell is Maureen?"

Bruce pulls in a deep breath and carefully shifts his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. " _Claire_ ," he corrects. "He had Claire take care of it." He looks over at Bucky, who's still lurking just behind Tony, posture threatening. "She knows what's going on. She can manage the schedule for however long her recovery takes." Bucky nods, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. Bruce turns back to Tessa. "And I called Dr. Ramos this morning and followed up with him. I agree, I like him too."

"Great," Tony says with a fast and loud clap of his hands. "Let's hire him. He sounds terrific."

"Could you dial down your… Stark-ness?" Bucky asks with a petulant smile. He takes a few steps back and accepts the burger that Steve hands him, an obvious attempt at distraction, but one that works once he realizes just how hungry he is.

"My _Stark-ness_?" he turns, face appalled. Bucky simply raises his eyebrows and looks the man over, head to toe, before nodding once and tearing into his burger.

"Did he tell you about the vaccine? About how close he is?" Tessa asks Bruce, disregarding the two men to her right.

"He didn't say too much." He crinkles his brow and scratches his head, his lips pursed together in the most Bruce-way possible. "He seemed a bit hesitant to leave Sierra Leone."

Tony turns back to the pair, brows furrowed in confusion. "Sierra Leone? What's he doing there?"

"Ebola," Tessa says, wincing as she twists towards him. "He's working on a vaccine."

"For Ebola?" He issues out a disgusted sort of scoff. "How the hell are we gonna make money off of that?"

"Tony, not everything is about money," Bruce tells him condescendingly.

"You and I very different people." He takes a few short steps back, over to where the others have gathered on the small, uncomfortable sofa in the corner. And he swipes a bag of fries out of Sam's hand.

"Eleven thousand people have died in the last year alone," Tessa says.

"And none of them would have been able to pay for a vaccine." He pops a fry into his mouth before surreptitiously dropping the rest onto the bed next to her with a wink.

"You'd be a hero," she intones, reaching down to grab one. "I thought you wanted to be more of a philanthropist?"

"I – " He's unable to finish his thought, nothing more than a "hey!" leaving his lips as he's violently hip-checked.

"No," Bucky says, reaching over and snatching the fry from Tessa. He grabs the small, greasy bag off of the bed and turns to Tony, saying to him also – though with much more venom, "No."

Tessa lets out a pathetic whimper as Tony rolls his eyes. "If flying off a motorcycle won't kill her, I highly doubt a few fries will."

"I didn't fly off it," she corrects with a truly pitiful pout. "I just ran into a car. Or it ran into me."

"She hasn't had any solid food since puking her guts out yesterday. And we're not testing the waters with greasy fries." He turns away briefly, tossing the French fries back over to Sam. "Besides, there's too much sodium in there for someone with a kidney injury."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "Oh, you're a doctor now, are you? Sergeant Doctor or Doctor Sergeant… which would you prefer to be called?"

Tessa waves a dismissive hand between the two before settling back into the pillows. "It's fine. I'm not hungry anyway."

Bucky turns his annoyed glare away from Tony and gives her a concerned look. "You didn't eat anything earlier," he says, slowly rubbing his hand along her shin.

She shrugs, wrinkling her nose to cover the grimace that invariably seems to accompany almost _any_ movement. "I don't want to eat," she tells him. "I just want to sleep until I'm healed."

"A nice restorative coma," Tony quips. "Maybe you should focus some research on creating that experience rather than seeking vaccines that no company in the world will be able to market."

"Maybe you should just rest," Bucky counters, giving her right ankle a gentle squeeze.

She gives him a small, appreciative smile before turning her attention back to Tony. "Ebola's at the top of the list of viruses that are being spec-ed out for use in chemical weapons." She raises a single, intriguing eyebrow at him and – fighting through a deep yawn – says, "Stark Industries could be responsible for thwarting one of the biggest terrorist threats of the 21st century."

He lets out a long, indignant sigh. "Fine. Hire the do-gooder."

"But first," Bucky says, reaching out and grasping her fingers gently as he places his metal hand on Tony's shoulder. "You need to rest." He gives the man a tight enough squeeze to cause him to wince and then pivots him away from her bedside.

Tony twists and turns to pull out of his hold, tosses an annoyed glare over his shoulder. "Someday you're going to make an excellent overbearing mother," he spits out at him.

"I need my gray laptop," Tessa says, tugging on Tony's sleeve. "It's in my office at the tower. That's the one with all of the resumes and notes about the applicants. I need that and... and…" She seems to almost fade away, completely losing track of her thought as her head grows heavy, falling back into the pillow behind her. Her mouth gapes open as though words are about to spill out, but nothing more is said. She turns slightly and sees that Bruce is holding the trigger for her PCA pump in his hand, thumb on the button.

" _And_ nothing," he says to her as she blinks heavily. "We've got it under control."

"Speak for yourself," Tony issues out under his breath.

She's almost out, barely hanging on as the morphine courses through her system, dulling her brain. "But…" is all that she manages as her eyes slowly flick back and forth between Tony and Bruce.

Bucky steps closer to the edge of the bed and gives Bruce an appreciative nod. " _But_ nothing," he says, watching as her eyes finally drift shut.

"Were you supposed to do that?" Tony asks, a mixture of both amusement and distrust on his face.

Bruce just shrugs before dropping the bolus and skirting around the bed to head over to the small group of people in the corner. "Not really. But it seemed like she needed it."

Bucky too wanders back over, taking a seat on the arm of the couch. "Definitely," he breathes out, dropping his head into his hands and yawning.

Tony nudges him, a bit too harshly, and drops a key card into his lap. "Here," he says simply, sparking a confused scowl from the man as he picks up the card and flips it over to inspect it. "It's the key to an apartment in the tower," he says, rolling his eyes dramatically. "We finally finished renovating the residences."

"I don't need this," Bucky says, handing the card back.

"Uh, yeah, you do." Tony digs around in one of the nearly empty bags by Steve's feet, comes out with just a small handful of forgotten fries, and glares at the group in front of him. "You're all a bunch of animals. Ungrateful animals."

"There's a cafeteria downstairs," Steve says, swallowing down the final bite of his burger.

"Hell of an egg salad sandwich," Sam adds with a smirk.

Bucky continues waving the card around in front of him until Tony bats it away, knocking it back into his lap. "The tower is fifteen minutes away," he says. "The apartment's fully furnished… king-size bed… and Pepper made sure everything's fully stocked. You can shower, sleep, and eat and still be just fifteen minutes from here."

Steve's eyes widen and perk up as he glances over at Bucky. "Sounds perfect."

"No."

"Just… keep the key," Tony says with an irritated shake of the head. "It'll be Tessa's place anyway."

"What the hell does that mean?" he nearly growls.

"Pepper wanted her to have a place to stay in the city," he says with a shrug. "She has an office there, a lab there. Sometimes meetings go late or we wine and dine potential investors." Another shrug as he tosses the remaining fries into his mouth. "Just makes sense."

Steve leans over and drops his palm onto Bucky's knee. "Just like it makes sense for _you_ to use the place now," he says with a shit-eating grin.

000

They _finally_ manage to convince Bucky to go get some rest… Sam being the one who drives the final nail into the coffin when he tells him, tone grave, "She's got enough to worry about with her own health, man. Don't make her worry about yours too." It's the knowing, oddly guilt-inducing look on his face as he speaks that crumbles Bucky's final reserves.

The rest of the team filters out as well, only Natasha remaining late into the night, refusing to break her promise to the sergeant – and to herself. "She won't be alone," she had told him just before he left. And when he leveled her with a cautioning stare, "And I won't let anyone disturb her either."

She's used to pulling all-nighters, to remaining on watch or simply staying alert during various types of ops and missions. And Bucky had told her that he'd be back no later than six – Tessa's second surgery is scheduled for eight – and that's just a few hours away. So she's absolutely capable of remaining awake.

But, as she reminds herself while she watches the city lazily buzz on below from her spot in that suspiciously comfortable recliner near the widow, she really doesn't _have to_ stay up tonight. After all, this isn't a mission. There's no immediate threat taking place, no intel that needs gathering, no suspect that has to be monitored. Her purpose here is just to make sure that her friend isn't alone. And she would, technically, still be here, right by Tessa's side, whether her eyes were open or shut.

So she allows them to fall shut, just a bit, just for a moment.

The room is dark, save the harsh fluorescent glow seeping in from the hallway and the lights of the city filtering in through the window. The slight beeps and pulses of machines from throughout the floor punctuate the near silence, and every so often soft voices can be heard emanating from the nurses' station down the hall. Otherwise, it is quiet and dark and still.

It's Tessa's breathing that wakes her. The change is so obvious – from a deep, steady pattern that faded seamlessly in with the calm cadence of the night, to a progressively quicker, more shallow, nearly gasping variety. Natasha blinks slowly, sleep dissipating as she realizes with a start that her friend is very nearly hyperventilating. She jumps to her feet and glances up at the heart monitor as she makes her way to Tessa's side. _122_.

She gazes down and sees that her eyes are closed, her face pinched in a grimace. "Tessa," she says softly, reaching down to lay her hand on her shoulder. She gives her a gentle shake, and the moment she does, an odd sort of shock – an electrical zap, almost – shoots up her arm. She recoils quickly and stumbles back.

Her fingertips _burn_.

She looks down, and even in the dim light of the room, she can tell that they're red. Her entire arm hums and tingles, and she cradles it to her chest as she approaches her friend's bedside yet again. She looks back to the monitor. _134_.

She considers stepping outside to call in a nurse, but before she can, she hears a soft muttering. She leans down, close to Tessa's face, to make out the words being mumbled in her sleep. "Can't have her," it sounds like. "You can't have her."

"Tessa," she tries again, her voice louder and more commanding. "Tessa, wake up." The monitor is up to 145. "Tessa!" she nearly shouts.

It's then that a nurse finally enters the room, just having noticed that a patient's heartrate has jumped up to… _160_. She flips on the light and quickly crosses the room to stand beside her bed. "Ms. Sullivan?" she questions, her voice emotionless. She reaches out to touch Tessa, just as Natasha had, but Nat's quick to grab her wrist before she can.

The nurse gives her a startled look, which she ignores as she stares down at her friend. Now that the light is on, she can see that Tessa's face is bright red and covered in a sheen of sweat. Her hair is matted down at the temples, her hospital gown nearly soaked through.

"What are you doing?" the nurse spits out at her, violently attempting to tug her hand away.

The light in the room dims, the machines all pulse in and out, the screens flickering before their eyes. "Hey, Mary," another nurse calls out from the hall before peeking her head into the room. "Something's going on out here," she says. "The monitors are all going haywire."

The woman – Mary – twists free of Natasha's grip, shooting her a dirty look as she does so. "Just a sec," she tells the nurse in the doorway. The lights in the room flicker and fade and again, and an alarm begins to sound on Tessa's heart monitor. All three look to the display. _190_. "That's not right," she mutters simply, assuredly. "We must be having some sort of electrical problem."

"I'll call maintenance," the woman in the doorway says, disappearing back into the hall.

Mary turns and hurries after her, throwing up a single _hang on_ finger at Natasha as she goes.

The minute she's out of the room, Nat turns back to Tessa and says in a loud and commanding voice, "Wake. Up." And she drops her hand to her shoulder once more, giving her a firm shove.

Tessa's eyes shoot open as a deep, halting breath is pulled in. She reaches over and grabs Natasha's hand, pinning it to her. Then she turns and locks eyes with her. Natasha gasps and tries to pull away, feeling her body suddenly weaken as her energy drains away. "Tess," she ekes out desperately, looking into her friend's glowing eyes.

The monitor gives off a final loud beep before going dead. The lights flicker in the room and those in the hall pulse once, then twice, before going out completely. The only light in the room now comes from Tessa's eyes, which are teeming with a bright blue glow. And from her hand, still holding tight to Natasha's, even as dazzling blue and white flashes dance along her fingertips.

Nat's vision begins to blur and fade. The last thing she sees before collapsing to the floor in the otherwise dark room is the sparks from Tessa's hand slowly fizzle into nothing.


	53. Blackout Fever

An hour and a half. That's how much sleep he managed to get. It was an hour and a half between the time he finally collapsed – freshly showered and changed – onto the king-sized bed in the suspiciously posh apartment to the moment his cell rang. A fucking _hour and a half_.

Bucky stands in the hall, just outside Tessa's hospital room, listlessly shifting from foot to foot. He glares at the unfamiliar doctor before him and runs an exhausted hand down the length of his face. "Okay," he says, the word coming out as a resigned sort of groan. "What does that mean?"

The doctor gives him a wary look, as though he's not sure the man in front of him is even really awake, let alone processing what he's saying. "She has a fever," he repeats slowly, patronizingly.

Bucky blinks rapidly. "Yeah, I know. You said that." He stares at the man for a long moment before asking, "What's your name again?"

"Dr. Harlen," the gangly man replies, obviously annoyed. "Look, I'm not very familiar with your wife's case –"

"Fiancée," he corrects quickly, shaking his head as his mind reels over how naturally the word falls from his lips.

He nods. "I just started my shift a few hours ago. And as I already explained, things have been…" He tosses a glance over at the chaotic nurses' station behind him. "hectic. Here's what I can tell you. About an hour ago, one of our nurses checked in on your _fiancée_ and noted that her temperature was…" He looks to the tablet in his hand, letting out a long, pained sigh when he sees that it's frozen. "Damnit!" He turns on a heel and shouts, "Mary! This one's busted too."

"It's not _busted_ ," the nurse tells him as she hurries over and takes the tablet from his outstretched hand. "It's the system. I told you. They're working on getting it back up."

"Well in the meantime, how am I supposed to access patient charts?" She gives him an impatient look, seething with a calm sort of hostility.

Bucky watches the exchange with disinterest. "What about my wife?" he interjects, eyes blowing wide as he realizes what he said. "Girlfriend," he quickly corrects before stuttering out, "Fiancée."

Dr. Harlen snatches back his tablet and begins to furiously tap at the unresponsive screen. "Her temperature was…"

"Ms. Sullivan?" Mary asks, glancing past Bucky and at the name on the whiteboard outside the door.

Bucky shoots her a bit of a dirty look. "It's _Doctor_ Sullivan," he corrects with a huff.

She raises her eyebrows to indicate just how terribly impressed she is. " _Doctor_ Sullivan," she states, "had a fever of 103.2."

The doctor grits his teeth – incensed at the useless contraption in his hand – and looks quickly back up at Bucky. "103.2," he repeats. "We're trying to bring it down now. And we should have her labs back shortly so that we can determine what's causing the fever." He drops both his head and his voice when he utters angrily, " _If_ the lab is up and going, that is."

The nurse turns to Bucky, her countenance more calm than just a moment ago. She sighs, releasing as much annoyance as she can before speaking. "I checked in on her a couple of hours ago and she was fine, so the fever must've just hit. And as far as I know, the lab's systems were unaffected."

"It's probably a post-op infection," Dr. Harlen chimes in. "No idea why she wasn't started on antibiotics already. If the infection's in the bone, she could lose the leg."

Bucky pulls in a short breath, his mouth hanging agape as he works to process that information through his still-foggy mind. "Uh," he sputters. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She had no signs of infection leading up to this," Mary argues before looking back to Bucky. "As soon as we know what's causing the fever, we'll treat it. There's no need to go jumping to any conclusions," she finishes, throwing an exasperated glare at the doctor.

"She uh… she's supposed to have another surgery. Later this morning."

Dr. Harlen simply shakes his head. "Not possible. Not until her fever's down."

Bucky glances down the hall and sees Steve approaching. He raises a questioning brow, confusion settling in. "Well, did you call Dr. Hammond? Her orthopedic surgeon…"

"She should be in in a few hours," the doctor informs him before turning to leave. "I'll speak with her then."

"Hey." Steve is at Bucky's side the moment Dr. Harlen disappears. "What happened? Was that the doctor?"

Mary steps back to let the two men speak, saying to Bucky before she goes, "I really have to get back. If you need anything, just…" She turns and glances around at the handful of people scattered about the hall – mostly maintenance men and harried nurses. "Well, you'll be able to find someone, I'm sure."

Steve follows her with his eyes as she scurries back over to the nurses station. "What happened here?" he asks, just now seeming to realize that the entire floor is aflutter with activity.

Bucky shakes his head and pulls in a deep breath. "There was a blackout or something. Some of their systems are still down." He spins around so fast, he almost slams into Steve's shoulder. "They called you?" he asks suspiciously. "I thought I updated her emergency contact."

Steve shakes his head. "Nat called."

"Ah, yeah," he breathes out. "You should take her home."

He narrows his eyes at his friend, studying him closely. "Did you get any sleep?"

Before he can answer, Natasha appears in the doorway to Tessa's room. Her face is so pale she's very nearly translucent. She's holding an ice pack on the back of her head and teetering rather precariously, a hand shooting out to take hold of the doorframe as she pulls in a deep breath. "Damn," she mutters, shaking her head.

Steve's eyes widen as he reaches out to steady her. "What the hell happened to you?"

"She tripped when the lights went out," Bucky supplies, slowly sidling around her to sneak into the room. "Hit her head." She frowns at him, a nervous, tentative glower. "Like I said, you should take her home."

Natasha and Steve both watch as Bucky moves over to Tessa's side. He sits lightly on the very edge of the bed so as not to disturb her, reaches out hesitantly to brush the sweat-soaked hair from her forehead.

"She has a fever," Natasha says, voice deep and strained. "Probably an infection somewhere." She leans into the door jamb, her eyes momentarily fluttering shut.

Steve nods absently. Concern flashes over his face as he watches Bucky pull Tessa's hand into his, fold it neatly between both his palms, and bring it gently to his lips. All the while, she barely stirs. He sighs deeply and looks over at Nat, his eyes moving up and down the length of her body assessingly before settling on her drawn face. "Are you okay?"

She opens her eyes and considers him seriously for a long moment, her gaze cool and piercing. "We need to talk," she says finally, pulling herself upright and starting down the hall, assuming he'll follow.

000

"I thought you tripped during the blackout," he says confusedly, accepting the steaming cup of coffee she offers.

Natasha shakes her head, sitting down next to Steve at the small table in the corner of the cafeteria. No one else is around, save what looks to be a single med student passed out over his open books on the far end of the room. Still, her voice is low when she speaks. "That's just what I told the nurse when she found me."

"But…" He shakes his head, further furrows his brow. "Are you sure? I mean, if you hit your head… maybe you're not remembering…"

"Steve, I know what I saw."

He leans back and sighs. "Okay. Okay. But… are you sure?"

"Steve," she chides, voice rising in intensity as irritation rolls across her face. "Her eyes were _glowing_." She holds her right hand out to him, flipped up so that he can see her blistered fingertips. "She _burned_ me." He stares down at her fingers for a long moment, saying nothing. "Look," she goes on, "I don't really know what happened. But I sure as shit know that _something_ did. And that blackout? The machines all going haywire, all of that?" She looks him dead in the eye and says, "That was Tessa."

"Maybe," he starts, not sure where to go next. "Maybe… having a fever did something to her powers."

She leans back into her seat and shrugs. "Maybe. But…"

"But what?"

She shakes her head distractedly. "I've never seen anything like that. I mean, she's showed me things before… things she can do."

Steve sniggers a bit, showing off a crooked smile as he stares down at his black coffee. "She boil water for you?" he asks lightly.

"The opposite, actually. She turned my coffee to ice. A giant chunk of ice." She flexes her fingers, wincing a bit at the pull of her burnt skin. "It kind of pissed me off."

"Yeah, Tess of all people should know better than to ruin someone's coffee."

"In fairness, I had said I should've gotten a cold brew." She rolls her eyes, thinking back and remembering Tessa's shit-eating smirk, her barely stifled laughter. Steve gazes over at her and they share an amused grin. "I've never seen anything… like that, though."

"Not even in Sokovia?" he asks, brows knitted.

She shakes her head. "I saw her drop some bots, but… She just kind of held out her hand and… they fell."

He nods slowly. "I've seen… _light_ before. When she dropped a guy in Mexico… sucked out his energy. That's what she called it. Or…" he stops for a moment to think. "What did she say? _Energy pull_. That's what she called it." He shrugs and looks back over at Natasha. "Anyway, it looked like… like blue sparks."

"From her hands?" she asks hurriedly.

"Yeah," he nods. "Did that happen?"

"Yeah," she says dreamily, as though just now remembering. "Yeah. It was like blue and white sparks, dancing on her fingertips. I probably would've thought it was pretty if I hadn't been slowly dying from getting my _energy pulled_."

Steve's face twists in thought for a long moment. He chews the corner of his lip before setting down his coffee and letting out a long sigh. "I think something's up," he says frankly. He catches her curious look out of the corner of his eye and he swivels to face her. "She's been acting weird, right?"

Natasha sucks in a deep breath, setting her shoulders. "Steve… she was traumatized. The thing with her drowning… that was only…" She wrinkles her brow for a moment, thinking back to that fateful mission. "Six months ago?"

He shakes his head, his own brow creased in thought. "I don't think it was just that, though. I mean… having nightmares is one thing. But she couldn't remember any of the dreams. She kept spacing out. In the middle of a conversation, she'd just… stop. And she was always cold… like, _always_ cold."

"Sometimes she talked to people who weren't there," Natasha interjects quietly, reluctance lacing her words.

Steve gives her an alarmed look. "What?"

She shrugs. "Sometimes she would say things… kind of off to the side, over her shoulder. She'd say things or whisper things like she was talking to someone. But no one was there." She blinks up at him. "Guess you never noticed that."

"No," he issues out, eyes wide. "No, I think I'd remember that."

"It hasn't been as bad lately. I thought… whatever it was, she must be working through it." She looks up at him, her face suddenly flooded with concern. "What do you think it is?" Her voice holds a sort of childlike quality, like she's desperately hoping that he somehow has the answer. "You think it's something to do her mutation? Maybe the drowning… triggered something?"

He shrugs, dropping his elbows to his knees, his eyes falling to the stark white tile floor. "Maybe." He huffs out a tired, exasperated breath, the sound almost a growl. "Yeah," he says looking back up at her. "Yeah, I think that makes sense."

She lets out a _psh_ and rolls her eyes. "None of this makes sense."

He pulls himself upright, his soft blue eyes boring into her as he speaks. "She wasn't heading into the city," he tells her. "When she got into the accident… she was headed north. Bucky said that someone from her past had come to see her the day before and asked her to come home."

"Home?"

"The boarding school she lived in is upstate somewhere."

Natasha purses her lips as her eyes widen. "Don't suppose that _school_ is the secret base of the X-Men?" Now it's his turn to give her a quizzical look. "Didn't you read the SHIELD files that were released?"

"There were _decades_ worth of files in there," he replies, looking at her like she's lost her mind. "Did you read all of them?"

She shrugs. "I read that SHIELD believed that a boarding school for gifted children was actually a cover for the X-Men's base of operations."

"Huh," he mutters, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. "I guess it never occurred to me that her _home_ would be…" He turns his gaze quickly back to her. "You think they just… recruited kids? Children? And… used them as…"

"Soldiers?" she asks with a raised brow. "Wouldn't be the first time someone thought to do that."

He notices her shoulders drop as she pivots away from him. _The Red Room_ , he thinks. _What kind of world are we living in?_ "I don't suppose there was an actual location in the files?"

"They gave the name of the school." She takes a quick pull of her coffee before rising and awkwardly stretching out her back. "Let's head back to the compound. I need some sleep." Steve gets up to follow her, making sure to bring his coffee along. "You should talk to Vision," she says, tossing the words over her shoulder. "Jarvis had access to all of the SHIELD files, so they should've been… downloaded into Vision. Asking him might be easier than digging through the _decades worth of files_ on your own."

"Yeah," he breathes out. Then, stopping short, he says, "Listen, I think we should keep this between us for now." She turns to him with a serious but otherwise unreadable expression. "I just think… I think that Buck has enough to worry about right now. And Tessa, obviously. I mean… she's hurt… if she's sick too…"

"Okay," she agrees quickly. "We'll go check out this _school_ on our own." He gives her a curt nod. "But I'm not taking the heat when your boyfriend finds out we did this behind his back. You're gonna have to deal with that shit storm on your own."


	54. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters

_X-MEN! Just sayin... I should probably also reiterate that in addition to not owning any super soldiers, I don't own any mutants either. :(_

* * *

" _School for Gifted Youngsters_ ," Steve reads slowly, frowning down at the sign in front of them. He lets out a small, disapproving grunt as he glances around at the perfectly kept, lush green grounds surrounding them and the ivy-strewn stone walls of the mansion up ahead.

"Come on, Cap," Natasha encourages dully as she moves out in front of him, making a beeline for the door.

Before either of them can hit the buzzer, though, the large oak door slowly swings open. A tall mocha-skinned woman with shock-white hair stands before them, an open smile on her face. "Captain America," she greets, tilting her head in Steve's direction. Then, looking over at Natasha and raising a single assessing brow, dropping her smile just the slightest bit, "And… Black Widow."

"You know us?" Steve asks, guarded expression peeking out from beneath his sunglasses and ball cap.

The door opens wider to reveal a huge foyer, spotless and shiny, flecked with mahogany and walnut. Around the staircase, a small group of children can be seen peering out at the guests. They giggle, darting back around the corner when he removes his glasses and makes brief eye contact.

"Everyone knows who you are," she tells him, shooting an amused glance behind her at the children. "Shouldn't you be in class?" she says to them, laughing lightly as they bolt around the corner, scurrying off into the depths of the mansion. She turns back to her guests and extends a welcoming hand. "I'm Ororo Munro," she says simply.

" _Storm_ ," Natasha mutters, tentatively shaking the woman's hand.

"So you know me too?" she questions casually, stepping back to allow them inside.

"SHIELD kept files on all of the known X-Men," she explains, ignoring the warning look from Steve.

"So they did." She closes the door behind them. "So, what can we do for you?"

Steve's the one who responds, leaving Natasha to pivot slowly, taking in the area. "We'd like to speak with you about a friend of ours. We think you might know her."

Nat snorts indignantly at the _might_ part of that sentence as she begins to pull away and meander down the hall.

Storm nods, her expression tensing. "Tessa," she says simply. He looks up at her, connecting eyes, and taking note of the concerned semblance hers take on. "She mentioned you," she says warmly. "We don't talk often, not since…" She pulls in a deep breath and steels herself, putting on a new, more convincing smile. "She said that you got her the job at Stark Industries. She was _so_ excited," she laughs, remembering that happy phone call.

He gives a small nod and takes a moment to think about what to say next. Part of him wants launch into accusations. _What is this place? What are you planning with those children? What did you do to Tessa?_ The other part is remembering back to the handful of stories Tessa managed to parse out about herself over their few years together. _It wasn't just a_ school _… it was home. They were my family._ "Something's happened," slips out idly from his lips as the vying thoughts continue to run through his head.

Her expression shifts. "Is she alright?" she shoots out quickly, face contorting into a worried grimace. "I've been trying to get ahold of her for months. Sometimes she needs her space… distance. But she usually calls back eventually."

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by a deep shout of, "Storm!" They both pivot to look down the hall at the approaching man – a grizzled, angry-looking beast of a man – who's dragging Natasha by the elbow. "Did you let this in?"

He flings the redhead toward them, narrowing his eyes at the strangers. "Not the most welcoming hosts," Natasha gripes as she rubs her likely bruised elbow.

"Logan," Storm starts with a sigh. "Calm down. They're friends of Tessa."

His eyes ping back and forth between them before settling on Storm. His gaze is steely, jaw clenched as pulls in a tight breath and says, "Don't call her that."

"Logan," she warns, voice deep and threatening.

He continues to stare at her, countenance hardening for a brief moment before his resolve seems to crack and he lets out a low, relenting growl. "Did she send you here?" he asks the strangers, his eyes remaining fixed on the woman in front of him.

"No," Steve says simply, his own tone carrying a dangerous note.

Logan's eyes flick over to him, a curious, cautious quality to them. "Where is she?"

Steve takes a step forward, bringing himself to his full height. "Seems like if she wanted you to know that, she would've told you herself."

Logan takes a large step forward as well, growling under his breath as he does so. "Listen here, bub. I don't know who you think you are, but – "

"I told you," Storm interjects, stepping between the two. "They're _friends_." She turns to Logan and tells him in a low, commanding tone, "Back off."

"They're Avengers," suddenly sounds from behind in a soft, subtly accented voice. Steve and Natasha turn to find an older man in a wheelchair. His bald head shines in keeping with the dark walnut wood behind him. So do his eerily captivating eyes. He smiles thoughtfully at the small group. "Come in," he says, sweeping his hand out towards the room he just emerged from.

Without hesitation, Natasha saunters into the large study and begins to case the place, strolling slowly around the periphery. Steve waits for both Storm and Logan to move past and enter the room before he so much as budges.

"Let me guess," Natasha, intones, running a finger lazily along a shelf as she reads over the titles of the books atop it. "You're the Professor."

"Charles Xavier," he offers, extending a hand to her as she rounds the room, ending up on his left. She studies his hand for a long moment before finally reaching down and giving it a firm shake. "This is my school. And, yes, I suppose I am often called _the Professor_ ," he says with a small chuckle.

She looks him dead in the eye. "You're the leader of the X-Men," she says without emotion.

"Yes," he intones. "I suppose that I am."

Storm closes the door to the study and steps forward. "They're here about Tessa," she says to the Professor.

"Of course they are." He shares an odd sort of look with her, one that seems to communicate… something. Whatever it is, it sends a shock of goosebumps along Steve's arms.

"Stop calling her that," Logan mutters bitterly from the corner.

Steve turns on him quickly, eyes narrowed. "What _should_ she be called?" he asks challengingly.

"Her name," he spits out.

Professor Xavier holds up a stilling hand. "Logan, please. I'd like to hear what our guests have to say." He looks to Steve and offers him a small, conciliatory smile. "Captain?"

Steve's expression is wary, his entire body tense and on edge. He's not sure he's ready to talk about Tessa yet, to reveal his concerns to these strangers. Not when he's unsure of what role they may play in her… issues. "What is this place?" he asks with a bit too much rancor. "There are children here."

The Professor simply nods. "Yes, of course. This is a school."

"And what are you teaching them? How to be soldiers? How to fight in some sort of mutant war? For you?" He's not entirely sure where all of this venom is coming from. After all, Tessa had never so much as implied that this place was anything other than a safe haven for her as a child. But if it was such a great home, why had she left and never looked back?

"Captain," he starts, smile falling from his face. "You've led soldiers for quite some time, no? Tell me, does it seem as though Tessa was raised to be a _soldier_? Is there, in fact, anything particularly _soldier like_ about her at all?"

His eyes veer towards to Logan when he sees him bristle at the mention of Tessa's name again, grumbling slightly as he seems to fall deeper into the shadows in the corner of the room. Then he looks to Natasha, who shows off a coy and knowing smirk. "No sir," he says, coolly.

"No," the Professor repeats, chuckling softly as he gives a slight shake of his head. "No, she never has been good at following directives. I've no real military experience myself, but I expect that's a necessary trait to being a good soldier."

"But she was a part of the X-Men," Natasha states, drawing all eyes to her. "You may not be particularly… militaristic, but you are some sort of… what? Crime-fighting team."

"I'd like to think that we are… enemies of injustice."

"We're a family," Storm interjects, jutting out her chin defiantly as she stands just behind Xavier. "Did you read the files you released?" she directs toward Natasha. "Did you actually see what was said about us?"

"I skimmed it," she replies coolly.

"SHIELD," she starts, huffing out a bitter breath and shaking her head. "The whole damn world… they don't know us. They don't understand us. And they don't trust us. That's why those files even exist. They wanted to keep track of us… _watch_ us."

"Like we're wild animals just waiting for our chance to bust out of the zoo and eat all the people," Logan asserts with a bit of an amused grin.

Storm glances over at him and when her gaze returns to Natasha, the redhead can see that her eyes are quickly developing a sheen of tears. "We never did anything to warrant that mistrust. This is a _school_. It is a _home_. We take in children who – like the rest of us – were abused or abandoned… misunderstood or mistreated… children who are living in a world where they can never truly be themselves, not even with their own families. And we show them that there's more available to them. We show them how special they truly are."

Natasha continues to stare at the woman, not a hint of sentiment on her face. "And that's what you did for Tessa," she states simply.

"We raised her from the time she was just six years old. Her brothers brought her to us and…"

Logan steps forward, out into the light. He rounds the desk and stands staunchly at the corner, just behind Storm, with his arms folded tightly across his chest. "And now they're gone," he finishes for her. "And we're all the family she has left."

" _You're_ her family?" Steve asks sneeringly "You don't even know where she is. She told you she got a job at Stark Industries, but did she tell you what she does there? Did she tell you about the Avengers? About any of us? And before that? Did you even know where she was then… what she was doing… who she was with? Because my understanding is that she cut you all out of her life a long time ago." The three X-Men remain silent in front of him and he feels his cheeks grow hot with a sort of righteous rage. "I don't know what happened here, but – "

"No, you don't," the Professor interrupts, a finality to his suddenly stern tone.

Steve looks at him long and hard for a moment before saying, with as much authority as he can muster, "But _we're_ her family now."

"Yes," he utters, still locked onto the Captain's seething eyes. "You seem very protective of her too." Steve's lips pull into a tight line as the Professor moves his chair closer to him. "And yet you didn't protect her those months ago," he states with a pained sort of sincerity.

Steve's face falls and he sputters. "I don't… what do you mean?"

"I know that something happened," he says slowly. "I felt it. I felt her energy… call out to me, panicked." Steve and Natasha share a quick look before turning back to the Professor. "I felt her… fade away," he says, a single tear cascading from his eye. He looks away, gaze shifting off into the distance.

"How do you know," Natasha starts before changing gears. " _What_ do you know?"

He looks her in the eye, blinks out a few more stray tears, and says with a sad smile, "I know more than you could _fathom_ , my dear."

"We've been trying to get ahold of her since then," Storm says. "For nearly six months now." She looks at the two with a pleading gaze. "The professor has felt her since then… felt that she's been… troubled. He promised her… years ago… he promised her that he wouldn't reach out to her with his powers. So I've been calling instead." She shifts her eyes to connect with Steve's and she asks him simply, for the second time, "Is she alright?"

He holds her gaze and slowly shakes his head. "No."

Xavier pulls in a long, mournful breath and Natasha turns to him and asks, "Do you know what's wrong with her? You know _so much_ , apparently."

"You got a real attitude on you, lady," Logan chimes in. "Why don't you tell us what _you_ know. Since you're her family and all. Start with what the hell happened six months ago."

"She drowned," Steve issues out as he drops onto the small sofa behind him, gaze falling to the floor. His voice is languid, dejected. "It was my fault. It was my mission. And she almost died."

"Almost?" the Professor asks. Steve looks up. "Or did she… die? For a time, that is?"

He nods. "She wasn't breathing when we pulled her out. Her heart wasn't beating." He looks down to his hands laying in his lap as his fingers twist together, and he repeats, "It was my fault."

Xavier shakes his head slowly. "There was a time when it was up to _us_ to keep her safe," he says somberly. "And we failed." Again, Steve's eyes rise to meet the Professor's. "I did what I could to fix it then, to fix _her_. But… well…" He gives him a small, sad smile. "I always feared that there'd come a day when that would all unravel."

"What does that mean?" Natasha asks carefully, her voice carrying more than a hint of accusation. "How did you _fix_ her?"

He turns to the redhead, but says nothing. It's Logan who steps up to reveal the truth. "He turned her into someone else. When the going got tough…" He looks down at Xavier, bitterness in his tone when he says, "He made her forget who she was and he drove her from her home. And her family."

The professor's head drops, woeful eyes blinking shut. "All to save her life," he utters. "All so that she could _have_ a life." Slowly, he raises his gaze and meets Steve's eyes once more. "Like you, Captain, I couldn't save her. I could only… bring her back… and give her something new."


	55. Who Needs Two Kidneys Anyway?

"It's fine, baby," she tells him weakly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before reaching up to sweep a chunk of dark hair back behind his ear. He gives her a small, uncertain smile as her hand falls to cup his cheek. "I _promise_."

Bucky shifts in his seat, his hunched shoulders slumping even further as he leans his elbows onto the edge of Tessa's bed. Without dropping eye contact, he wraps his metal fingers around her hand and slides her palm down to his lips so he can kiss it tenderly. "I know," he says, his voice deep and thick and… entirely unconvincing. She gives him a skeptical look and he responds by winking mischievously and blowing a thick, wet raspberry into her palm.

She wrinkles her face in disgust, but doesn't pull away. A small laugh escapes her when she lets out the grumbled, "Ewww." Though she immediately regrets it when a sharp pain pulls from her side. "Don't make me laugh," she whines, finally pulling her hand from his.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, light smile dancing on his lips. He reaches over and trails the fingertips of his right hand over her warm forehead, his face falling when he reaches the still-sickly looking bruise. "You'll be okay," he says, his eyes fixed on the mark. "It'll be fine," he breathes out, a reassurance meant mostly for himself.

"Who needs two kidneys anyway?" she asks, the sound of her voice, pulling his gaze back to hers. "I mean…" She cocks a single brow at him. "This is why God gave me a spare."

"In case of a motorcycle accident?" He gives her an incredulous, though amused look. She simply shrugs before dropping her head back to the pillow behind her and shifting with an uncomfortable groan. "Stop it," he tells her, raising a warning eyebrow.

She gazes at him with a pitiful pout for a long moment before asking, "Did you talk to Steve?"

He leans back into the chair with a sigh and pulls to the side to crack his back. "Nope," he says simply. "He texted this morning to say that he and Romanov were headed out for the day to do some recon. Not sure what for."

That text came in about an hour before the doctor returned with all of Tessa's test results. The injury to her kidney had resulted in an abscess, hence the rather sudden fever. Bucky may not have really known what that meant at the time, but he still found himself letting out a sharp breath of relief at the news that the infection wasn't in her leg.

That relief was short lived.

There were other…complications. "Her blood pressure has been steadily rising over the last 24 hours," the doctor – a _new_ doctor, if you can believe that – had told them. And the icing on the cake – delayed hemorrhaging. "We could go in and try to embolize again," he'd said. "But the abscess also looks to be severe enough that we'll have to surgically drain it."

"And you can't do that?" Bucky had asked, forehead furrowed in confusion.

Tessa's fingers wrapped tightly around his as she explained, "The embolization obviously didn't fix everything the first time. Doing it again might just be a waste of time. And if it is, and we end up doing a nephrectomy anyway… why bother putting me through the surgery to drain the abscess." She looked over to the doctor. "Right?"

He had nodded before stating, with a sort of sympathetic authority, "I believe the best option is to remove the kidney."

Tessa had agreed, nodding along with the assessment after inquiring about some additional test results that Bucky was clueless to. She made the decision without a second thought, it seemed. Losing one of her organs, undergoing yet another invasive surgery, didn't seem to phase her at all. Though Bucky knew that wasn't the case. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, even if the rest of her face betrayed nothing. He knew that she was just being strong for him. And he hated it.

He gazes over at her now and almost laughs at the exaggerated frown on her face. "I wanted him to be here for you," she says, her tone carrying so much concern – for _him_ – that it makes his stomach twist.

He shakes his head and huffs out an annoyed breath. "I don't need Steve here to babysit me while you're in surgery. I can handle sitting in a waiting room without him."

Her eyes flick over to the open door of her room. "You might reconsider that," she says in a low voice, an amused glint to her otherwise dull eyes. "Depending on the company in that room."

He twists around and sees Stark looming in the doorway.

"I'm beginning to think you might stand me up at the groundbreaking," Tony says blithely. "I get you the best room in the house," he mutters, sauntering in and motioning about the space, "and you decide you don't want to leave."

Bucky shoves backward, scooting the chair away from the bed so he can rise. He says nothing to Tony, and Tony says nothing to him.

"Room service isn't bad," Tessa quips with a small shrug. "I thought you were going to Sri Lanka?"

He purses his lips and shakes his head firmly. "Canceled it."

Her eyes widen, brows shooting up. "For me?"

He scoffs. "You think an awful lot of yourself, don't you?" She responds with a soft, affirmative hum, which pulls a genuine, if small, smile from him. He ducks his face to hide the grin briefly, then he looks back up at her and says, in a well-rehearsed tone, "A matter of extreme importance came up."

She feels a slight blush creep into her cheeks as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm gonna grab a coffee," Bucky issues out with a yawn. He leans over Tessa and drops a quick kiss to her lips before whispering to her, "Just hit the call button when he gets to be too much." She smiles at him, shaking her head as he traipses out of the room without so much as a nod to the man at the foot of her bed.

Tony shoots her a smirk, his hands nervously working the rail on the footboard. "What are you doing here, kid?" he sighs.

"I didn't want to ask for more vacation," she tells him her glassy eyes shining with mirth. "Seemed like this was the only way to get some time off."

He sidles down the length of the bed to stand at her side. "Now I know you're lying. Time off?" He scoffs loudly. "Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't already gone in and cut the kidney out yourself… speed things up a bit so you could get back to work sooner."

"I was having trouble keeping the scalpel steady," she mutters, holding out her hand to demonstrate the slight tremor. "Guess I shouldn't operate on morphine."

"Always with the jokes," he chuckles, his smile tight and forced. He grips the edge of her bed and leans away, fidgeting and averting his eyes while rolling them at the same time.

She lays her hand atop his. "Where would I have learned that?"

He shakes his head and sighs dramatically as his hand twists around, his fingers turning to pull hers into his grasp. "Pretty sure you mastered that long before we met, buttercup." He brings his gaze back down to her face. "How are you? Really?"

"Really?" she asks, raising her eyebrows as she considers her answer. "Really, I feel like shit."

He nods slowly. "Yeah, that makes sense. You look like shit."

She lets out a small laugh, almost a snort, before settling back and saying, "I'm really sorry about the groundbreaking."

He pulls his hand from hers and waves it dismissively. "That? Nah, that's nothing." He turns and begins to pace the room. "Pomp and circumstance. It's all just… a big show. Breaking a champagne bottle on the helm."

"I didn't know there was going to be champagne," she jokes lightly.

He turns to her, serious look on his face. "There is _always_ champagne."

She laughs again, this time deeper, and it brings on another dull ache. "I thought I asked Bruce to bring in my laptop… the one with the resumes and notes about potential hires. I know I haven't made any decisions yet…"

"Yeah," he interrupts quickly, spinning around to gaze out the window. The city is covered in a gray fog, misting rain lightly peppering the glass as he stares out it. "No. I told him not to."

She shifts, struggling against the pillows in an attempt to sit upright. "You told him not to," she repeats, confusion lacing the words. "What do you mean?"

He glances at her reflection in the window, the strong set of her shoulders, the stern placement of her jaw. He sighs, dropping his gaze down to his shoes. "I'm going through them now… the candidates. I have your notes. Happy completed all of the background checks. I got your assistant – the good one," he spins around to face her. "What's her name?"

She cocks a single suspicious eyebrow at him. "Claire?"

"Claire," he repeats with a quick snap of his fingers. "I'm having her call references."

"Tony," she breathes out, tone warning.

"I won't make any decisions without clearing it with you first," he tells her. "Even though, really… well I _am_ the boss."

"Tony," she tries again.

"I'd put everything on hold if I could," he says, looking into her eyes solemnly. "If I could… I'd push back the groundbreaking, mess with the schedule…"

"Tony…"

"I just…" His expression is pained, guilty even, when he says, "I _can't_."

"Tony, I… I wouldn't want you to push things back."

He shakes his head absently, averting his eyes once again. "No. No, this is your baby. You should be there."

She's silent for a moment, thinking about how much she actually really does want to be there… for the groundbreaking, and the final interviews, and the planning committee meetings. Okay, maybe not the planning meetings. But she _does_ desperately want to be part of… everything else that goes into that new lab. _Her_ lab. "I'm sorry," she mumbles.

He looks back up at her. "Well… I expect you to be back as soon as possible," he says, a darkness to his countenance. He knows it'll be weeks at least, maybe months, before she'll be back at work. And as much as he has every intention of holding this job for her, right now, he's really struggling with figuring out just how he's going to do that.

"As soon as possible," she repeats with an affirmative nod. She locks eyes with him and says, in the same reassuring tone she'd used with Bucky just moments before, "I promise."

000

They leave the mansion in silence. Walk to the car in silence. Get in, buckle up, and maneuver down the long drive in silence. It isn't until they're almost to the freeway, in fact, that any words are shared between the two of them. And those words are perhaps the most uncharacteristic words to come out of Steve Rogers' mouth. Ever. "Shit. Fuck."

Natasha seamlessly merges onto the highway before raising her eyebrows and turning away from the road to direct a questioning glance his way. He has his cell pressed to his ear, the fingers of his other hand harshly pinching the bridge of his nose as he slowly shakes his head. "What?" she asks when he doesn't look up.

He pulls the phone away from his face and quickly hits redial, turns to her as it begins to ring in his ear. "It was a kidney infection," he say solemnly, briefly relaying the info from Bucky's voicemail. "And there was still some bleeding. So they're removing it. Her kidney."

Natasha's mouth drops as her gaze returns to the road ahead. "What?" she ekes out. "I thought it was… better."

Bucky answers the phone before Steve can respond. "Hey," he says upon hearing the weary _Hello_ on the other end. "What happened? What's going on?"

He tells Steve all about the conversation with the new doctor, the decision to remove the kidney, the fact that Tessa seemed totally with it and in control when she agreed that it was a good plan. And he tells him that they took her away nearly an hour ago and left him alone in a room with Tony Stark. "He's just sitting there," he says. "Being calm and quiet. It's really freaking me out."

"Does everyone else know what's going on?" Steve asks, feeling suddenly, almost inconceivably guilty for being among the last to know.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "I called Sam when she went in. He's handing things with the new guys… him and Wanda, I guess. So I told him I'd keep them updated." There's another pang of guilt at realizing that, not only are he and Natasha not there at the hospital, but Sam and Wanda can't be either because _someone_ has to be in charge back at the compound. "And Barton called a while ago and said he was heading in."

Steve nods almost to himself. "Yeah, I asked if he'd come back to the compound for a bit while you're out. Felt bad doing it," he says with a sigh, "pulling him away from his family…"

"He said Laura was pissed he didn't leave sooner when she found out what happened," Bucky says with a small chuckle.

There's a long beat of silence as Steve thinks on what to say. "Well," he starts, shaking his head regretfully. "We'll be back soon."

"Where'd you go?" Bucky asks, a genuine interest in his tone.

He can't honestly say that he's _never_ lied to Bucky. But he sure as hell _tries_ not to. Being in the military, and being part of a top-secret military project, he's learned a thing or two about compartmentalization, about keeping certain things on a need-to-know basis. But if there's one person in his life whom he's always tried to be transparent with, it's Bucky. Which is probably why he feels actually, physically ill when he says to him, "We were just running some leads on Rumlow."

The suspicious side-eye glare from Natasha does not go unnoticed as he and Bucky say their goodbyes. But it also isn't addressed as Steve ends the call and falls back into his seat with a long, dramatic sigh.

"Is she okay?" Natasha asks quietly after a moment.

He looks straight ahead, eyes traveling out over the nearly empty road before them. "She's in surgery now."

"Is Barnes okay?"

He shrugs. "He said Tessa agreed with everything the doctor was saying. And he trusts her judgement." He looks over at Natasha, a heaviness to his deep blue eyes. "What are we gonna do?"

She shifts her gaze to him, her mouth slightly agape. "You're asking me?" He nods. She turns back to the road and pulls in a deep, steadying breath. "We need to tell them," she says, a finality to her words.

"I don't know," he mutters, his voice sounding more uncertain than she thinks she's ever heard it.

"Steve, they need to know. _Tessa_ needs to know."

When she glances over at him, she sees that he's chewing his bottom lip nervously, like a small child trying to work out a problem. "I just think…" he starts, narrowing his eyes at the increasing fog ahead of them. "I think that she needs to focus on her _physical_ recovery right now."

"Steve," she warns again.

"We don't even really know if there's a… a problem. Not really."

"Steve…"

He turns to face her, a pained sort of spite in his voice when he says, "She was so freaked out about going back there that she crashed her bike… almost killed herself."

Natasha's grip on the steering wheel tightens, her white knuckles being the only visible indication of her frustration. "You don't know that she was freaked out."

"Oh, come on," he interrupts with a sardonic laugh. "Storm said she hadn't been retuning phone calls. She told Bucky that she didn't want to go back there…"

"But she _was going back there_ ," she states simply. "Even if she didn't _want_ to, she was doing it. Because she knew something was up. And now she either doesn't remember that, or is conveniently ignoring it. Or…" She stops to let out a long sigh. "Or, Professor Xavier is right and there's something going on in her head… some sort of… battle between the part of her that doesn't remember who she really is and the part that _needs_ for her to wake up and understand her past."

He shakes his head, his jaw setting in a firm, decided way. "No," he tells her, conviction in his voice. "No. We'll just… we'll keep an eye on her. If anything else happens, like what happened last night… then we'll tell her. Hell, I'll bring Xavier to her hospital room myself if I think it'll help."

"Has it occurred to you that you're really not the one who should be making this call?" she asks with more than just a hint of disdain. "You think you're protecting her – "

"Yeah, I do," he interrupts, turning in his seat so that he can face Natasha. "I don't trust them. I don't know them, and I don't trust them."

"That's not the point."

A steady rain begins pelting the car as he huffs out a breath and tightly pinches the bridge of his nose once again. "I know we have to tell her," he says after a long moment. "But…" He looks back up at her, connects eyes for just a second as she turns away from the road. "Not now. Not while she's hurt and sick and…" He slowly rotates his body to face forward in the seat. "Just… not yet. Not until we know more about what's going on inside her head."

"And how do you plan on finding out what's going on inside her head?" she asks flippantly.

He turns his gaze out the side window and watches the trees rush by in a blur as rivulets of water stream along the glass. "I think you know the answer to that," he says so softly it's nearly a whisper.

"Steve," she ekes out through gritted teeth.

He glances back over at her, takes in the barely contained rage that her scowl denotes. "I can't put this on her right now," he says, sincerity flooding his words. " _We_ can't put this on her right now."

Natasha's face relaxes just a bit as she shrugs and says, voice dripping with derision, "You're the Captain."


	56. Out, Damned Spot!

They say goodbye in the same way they always do… with no _goodbye_ at all.

"I love you," Bucky leans down and whispers to Tessa as the nurse prepares to wheel her off to surgery. He lays a soft, albeit tense, kiss on her forehead and looks down at her with uneasy eyes. "Be good," he tells her, putting on forced smile. "Don't try to take over and tell them what to do."

She quirks a brow at him. "I've never removed someone's kidney."

He lets out a small chuckle. "Like that would stop you from trying to take over."

"You think you know me," she intones lightly.

"I do." He gives her hand a quick squeeze and repeats, this time with a bit of trepidation, "I love you."

"I love you too," she breathes out, letting go of his hand so they can wheel her off to the OR. She shifts towards him and blows him a kiss, smacking her lips playfully. He shoots her a genuine smile and she lets the warmth that it brings course though her, hoping it will keep the cold dread at bay.

Her eyes begin nervously bouncing around, taking in the corridors around her. The further they get from Bucky, the looser her grasp becomes on his energy signature. Now she's left with nothing but the energy pulsating off of these strangers. And from within. And the lonelier and more frightened she becomes.

She'd been so busy being _brave_ for the last several hours, so busy trying to act like nothing was wrong and everything would be fine, that she hadn't really taken the time to prepare herself for what was about to happen. Yeah, she could live without a kidney. But she sure as hell preferred to have them both.

And let's be honest, Tessa's not really one for Pollyanna idealism. She's a scientist. And any good scientist will tell you that no matter how much you may _hope_ for a good outcome, you need to spend your time preparing for any and all possible _bad_ outcomes. Which is precisely what she's doing now, all at once, as her mind suddenly begins reeling. Better late than never.

"You ready?" the anesthesiologist asks her once they get her prepped.

She looks up at him with wide, anxious eyes, and he responds with a kind smile and soothing touch to her forehead. His energy is calm, reassuring. She's certain he's done this hundreds of times before, not just put someone under for surgery, but tried to emanate positive energy to quell a patient's nerves. She finds herself wondering how often it works for people who don't have her ability to sense and take on energies. For her, though, it's doing wonders. "Okay," she nods after a long moment, her breathing steadying. "Okay."

He gives her a firm nod and says, "Just count back from one hundred…"

She begins to count, her eyes falling shut before she even reaches ninety-eight. She continues, as she drifts off, to hold tightly to his calming energy, working to coax it through her without actually pulling anything out of him. It's a trick she hasn't done in a very long time, an action she may well have forgotten how to perform.

But there were so many things lately that had been coming back to her. So many things resurfacing that she hadn't even realized she'd forgotten. So many…

She opens her eyes slowly, blinking in the darkness. The doctor's energy is gone now. She is alone. She looks around the dark room and recognizes it immediately, mostly from the smell. She's at Columbia, in her dorm room, caged in with the thick odor of her roommate's boyfriend's Drakkar Noir. She sits up slowly, realizing that she must've once again fallen asleep at her desk. She rises to move over to her bed, and that's when it hits her.

An energy. A power. A… force.

It's like nothing she's felt before. And she knows instantly that something, somewhere, has broken through.

 _Ah, that's right_ , she thinks to herself, oddly detached from the sensations creeping through her. _Yes, I remember this_. And just like that, she's outside her body, watching in aching detail as she relives the past.

It's the Phoenix – a power that should have remained disparate, spread out amongst the stars, peppered throughout the universe in small, manageable, barely perceptible morsels. It had somehow coalesced, taken root… and she knows just where.

She feels it in her bones, in her blood. Before she even has the wherewithal to _think_ what it might be, her body, her soul _knows_. She feels it… even now, standing outside herself. Even now, the fire courses through her, the burn of pure energy.

She lets out a sigh, blinks once, twice… and suddenly it's the next day. The phone rings. _Don't answer it_ , she wants to say. But no words come out.

They tell her to come home. Jean's back, they say. She's back. But she's not herself.

"And Scott?" She asks about him then, the moment Logan's voice filters softly to her through the phone. "I thought…" she starts. "I had a dream," she settles on, not at all certain that's was what it was. "I felt him… go."

A shudder moves through her as she listens for the words she's knows are to come. She can hear the hesitation on the other line, almost see Logan's face turn into a pained scowl. "He's gone," he says finally. "She killed him."

Tessa clamps her eyes shut, recalling how quickly she raced home, despite knowing in that moment that, to her, _home_ was already gone.

When she opens her eyes again, she's with the Professor at Jean's childhood home. He tries to speak with her, tries to make her see that he did it for her, built the psychic wall to keep the overwhelming Phoenix Force at bay _for her_. So she could live a life. So she could be a person, instead of just a power. An _absolute_ power.

Tessa stands motionless behind the Professor, staring blankly ahead at the woman she's known – and loved – for most of her life. The woman she no longer recognizes at all.

Jean turns to her then, once the Professor finishes his little speech. She connects with her eyes, stares deeply into them, and says, in an all to familiar voice, "I can hear you hum."

Then she turns… and pulls the Professor apart at the seams.

 _This is it_ , Tessa thinks. _This is the first time._ The first time that the deep, dark power courses through her.

When the Phoenix turns her energy on Tessa, she simply pulls it inside, holds it close, and lets it pulse through every nerve. It's terrifying, but also… invigorating, mesmerizing. And for the first time, _she_ can hear the hum too, an odd sort of signal buzzing through her head and all around her.

 _How could I have forgotten this?_ she asks herself, her own voice small and muted as the past deafeningly comes to life around her. _How could I have forgotten this feeling?_

She doesn't quite know how she does it… she's not even sure it's really her… perhaps it's someone – some _thing_ – else altogether. But it certainly seems as though she's the one who – through an odd sort of fog, an electrifying haze – manages to cobble the Professor back together. Somehow, she finds every tiny piece of him that the Phoenix had split apart, and she brings it all back together once again.

Then, all at once, the fog lifts and the world goes dark around the edges before closing in on her completely.

 _Blink. Blink, blink._ She opens her eyes to a dimly lit room.

She's with the Professor, sitting quietly in his study. He tells her that he's sorry. He tells her that he wishes it didn't have to be this way. He tells her that, if he could, he would lift this burden from her shoulders. But he can't. No one can.

"You know what must be done," he says, the two cloaked in an otherwise solemn silence.

They had stepped away from Scott's memorial, just for a moment. She lets out a shuddering breath as she gazes out the window at the newly blossoming roses in the garden where Alex had, years ago, been buried. Where, later, they would set up a headstone for Scott as well, even though there was no body to inter.

"You're the only one who can do it," he says. And she knows it's the truth.

 _So I did it_ , she thinks. _I did it._

They're in a forest, a thick, lush… bitterly cold forest. And she's _doing it._

Every bit of penetrating, pulsating energy that the Phoenix throws at her, she pulls in for herself. She takes it on, takes it _in_ , and spins it back around at the woman who looks so much like the one she'd loved. The constant back and forth, the pained onslaught, it weakens her.

It's a familiar feeling… like drowning… or burning…

She's dying. Her own life force fades with every tug and pull and quick release of the melded energies. In the battle between them, she feels herself and she feels the Phoenix. But she also feels Jean. And Scott. And tiny traces of Logan and Professor Xavier, both of whom had been bested by the Phoenix once already. And somehow, feeling all of those people that she loves within her, makes it that much easier to go on.

She knows there's no going back. She may die. But she will rid the Earth of this destructive energy first. She'll pull it apart and send it back out into the diaspora where its threat is limited.

"I can hear you hum," she hears then, the voice clear as day. Only this time it isn't the Phoenix speaking. It's Jean. She can hear the distinct timbre of her voice, see her all-too familiar face hovering before her. Her eyes, hazy with tears, are her own… for just a fraction of a moment. "You can outshine entire galaxies," she whispers to Tessa, as their bodies continue the exhausting struggle.

And then… the light in her eyes goes out.

Logan had waited. Waited for Jean to regain control. Waited for Tessa to pull as much of the Phoenix out of her as she could so that her body would be her own once more, even if only for a moment. Then he struck, burying his adamantium claws deep in her body as he buried his mournful face in the crook of her neck.

Jean fades, but Tessa's hold on the Phoenix is tenuous at best. She feels it trying to escape from her back into Jean's body. She can see the tiny rivulets of fire cascading through the air, attempting to coalesce once more. _No_ , she thinks simply, the word echoing in her mind, playing over and over and over again in her own voice, in Scott's voice – in Jean's voice – as what remains of her energy settles into Tessa's very core.

Logan looks up at her with tear-filled eyes, begging, it seems… begging for her to finish it, to do what she can to keep Jean safe and free from this terror.

She takes hold of Jean's shoulders, her body slumping forward as the claws retract from her chest. Her fingers grip so tight it feels as though they might break. She looks at them and sees the recognizable arc of blue light pinging from their tips. Then she directs that light up and around, swirling streaks of blue through the air so that her energy mingles in with the deep fiery red of the Phoenix. The sparks meld together for a single, short-lived moment before she pulls back on the blue stems of light, bringing them back into her body along with the dark, hissing force they now encase.

And then… she pushes it all back out, creating a cataclysmic explosion of fire and ice that shoots directly into the nearly lifeless body before her. Jean's eyes burn blue, then red. Thin, glowing lines appear along her face, throughout her entire body. They grow and widen, cracking her flesh as the overwhelming energy pulsates through her, crackling down to her core and then back out, out, out, shooting from the fissures in her body.

She… explodes. There's no other word for it. Jean Grey simply explodes before her.

Tessa watches, arms still extended as though there were anything left for her hands to grasp. She watches as the fiery light blasts out of the small space they'd occupied for what seemed like hours, like days. She watches as it all slowly fizzles out.

She watches as small droplets of blood fall from the sky, falling back down to the earth around her. She watches as her fingers dance in the dark red rain, the blood from Jean's eviscerated body cascading down her pale flesh, dripping from her outstretched hands in never-ending rivulets.

She lowers herself slowly to the ground, legs crossing as she sits like a schoolgirl at story time. Her hands fall into her lap, her gaze fixed upon them as she begins to desperately try and wipe them clean of the still-collecting blood. She pulls and tugs and worries each finger until they go numb. She scrubs and rubs and wipes at her hands until the blood has been worked so deep into the cracks of her skin that she's certain the stains will never come out. Her eyes, burning from the salty liquid seeping into them, fall shut.

Still, she tries. Still, she tugs and pulls at her too-raw fingers. Until a strong hand falls atop them, slowly peeling her hands apart. The hand is rough and calloused, but somehow so, so tender as it delicately folds itself around her fingers.

"It's okay, baby," she hears, the voice sounding far off, the words filtering down through the unending hum inside her head. "It's okay," he says again, this time sounding nearer. She doesn't open her eyes, too afraid of what she might see. The blood. The destruction. The people she loves laid out before her in either death or grief. "It's okay."

The hum begins to fade. It's replaced by an eerie sort of quiet. There's no rustle of the wind through the trees, no sound of crunching footsteps on the forest floor. No soft murmurs of the people she _knows_ were here just moments ago. There's just a subtle beeping to her left and a gentle breathing to her right.

She feels his lips press into her knuckles – _Jamie_. She feels the coolness of his metal palm come to rest at her temple. "Wake up, doll," he says softly. She knows his voice. She loves his voice. She loves _him_.

But still, she doesn't open her eyes. She _can't_.

"Shhh," she hears as she feels the bed dip beside her. "It's okay, baby. It's okay," he tells her, words tumbling out in a slow, desperate refrain. "It's okay," he says again, his voice nearly overtaken by the sudden sound of deep and steady sobs.

She tries to curl into the soothing chill of his hand, aching for it to pull away the burning.

"Shhh," he issues out again, his flesh hand dropping her fingers and coming up to take hold of the other side of her face. "Shhh, baby." She feels the pads of both thumbs as they glide over her hot cheeks, smearing the tears that are steadily pouring out of her. She tries to move, to curl into a tight ball, tight and small enough that she might just be able to disappear. But she can barely move. All her body will do, it seems, it shake and shudder as the long-held sobs spill out. "It's okay," he says again, his breath hot on her ear. "It's okay, baby. I got you." She pulls in a shaky breath and silently begs him to say it again. "I got you."


	57. The Truth Will Set You Free

"You ever gonna talk to me about it?" Bucky asks solemnly as he leans back. He's sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, his hip pressed firmly against Tessa's as he gazes down at her. He grips her hand tightly with his right, rubs his thumb in soft, slow circles over the back of her hand as she works to calm her breathing. With the metal fingers of his left hand, he gently traces along the healing scrapes on her forearm, hoping that any motion – any closeness – might soothe her.

This whole little dance is feeling painfully familiar to both of them. Her waking with a fright, out of breath, terrified eyes blown wide. Him sidling up close to comfort her, hold her, whisper placating words, begging her to let him somehow help.

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes so tightly shut that the torrent of lingering tears is forced out all at once. She opens her mouth to speak, but seems to think better of it, pinning her lips together and continuing the adamant shake of her head.

He inhales deeply through his nose, a centering technique that his therapist taught him long ago. It rarely seems to work, but he tries it anyway. She's already clearly upset… he doesn't want to make things worse by venting his own frustration. "Tessa," he starts, giving her hand a small squeeze. When she hears her name – not _baby_ or _doll_ or _sweetheart_ – an odd sort of chill runs through her. She opens her eyes and turns her watery gaze to him. "You _need_ to talk to me."

"I… I'm sorry," she stutters out, locking onto his all-too-somber eyes. "I… I don't… I don't know…"

He nods reassuringly. "Okay," he utters softly. "Okay. Just tell me what happened. Tell me what you remember." Her breath stills, a shadow passing behind her irises as she gives him a baffled look. "I _know_ you remember," he says, clearly referring to whatever sort of dream just thrust her from a peaceful sleep.

She slowly nods her head, but says nothing, instead focusing on trying to stifle another quickly rising sob.

"Was it the same thing you dreamt about after your surgery?" He'd thought, at first, that the inconsolable sobs they fought through in the recovery room yesterday were just signs of another bad reaction to anesthesia. The nurse in there at the time had told him that it was pretty common for people to come out of the twilight in tears. And she'd certainly been through enough in the days prior to warrant some incoherent bawling.

But then she woke with a start just a few hours after being moved back to her room. And again, she shuddered and sobbed, as though her world was coming to an end.

Steve had been there then. He came by to see how the surgery had gone, and to check on Bucky. He'd brought food and a change of clothes, even a deck of cards, which he handed over shyly, saying, "I know you can do everything on that stupid phone now, even play cards. But you can't shuffle the deck with your phone, and that was weirdly fun for me when I was cooped up as a kid."

Bucky had thanked him, given him a pat on the back, and – taking in his fidgety pose – commented, "You look… like something's up…"

But before Steve could respond – before he could tell him what had his shoulders set in such a slump, what gave his face such a dubious quality – a cry tore through the room. Bucky rushed to Tessa's side, pinning her down by the shoulders as she struggled to sit upright. Tears poured down her cheeks as she mumbled unintelligible words, clinging desperately to his arms as he worked to steady her.

Steve stared at the scene before him for several, long, painful minutes, obvious distress playing on his features. Eventually, Tessa calmed and Bucky turned back to him, ready to explain – how, he wasn't sure – and ready to apologize – though for what, he couldn't know. But Steve had already gone, slipped from the room without a word.

He turned back to Tessa, eager to talk through whatever nightmare had plagued her. But she was already slowly drifting back into a drug-induced sleep. When she woke next, early the next morning, it wasn't with a jolt. It was more slow and aching. For the rest of the day and into the evening, she hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to anyone – not to him, not to the nurses or the doctor, not even to Clint when he arrived from home, eager to look in on her for the first time since the accident. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't watch TV. She wouldn't do anything but stare off into space, lost in a solemn silence.

The doctor assured him that it was probably all due to a lingering reaction from the anesthesia, or the cocktail of pain meds, or the trauma and exhaustion from everything that had happened over the last few days. And he couldn't very well argue with any of that. All he could do was sit by her side, silently praying as she once again drifted off to sleep, that when she woke this time, things would somehow be better.

But that was the same prayer he'd been repeating on and off for months, and it had yet to do the trick.

He reaches up to lay his cool metal palm on her cheek. "Tell me what you dreamt," he requests again, certain now that this is more than just a drug-induced depression or a series of fevered dreams. She doesn't respond. He thinks back to the last nightmare he remembers her having… just a handful of nights ago, though it seemed so much further in the past. "Was it about the mission?" he asks. "Drowning?"

Something seems to click in her glassy eyes, and she shakes her head. "No," she mutters meekly.

Again, he nods. "Okay. Then what was it?"

A few more tears eke out and her voice very nearly breaks as she admits, "I don't want to say."

He gives her a sad, almost deflated look. " _Please_ talk to me."

She sniffles once and presses her lids tightly together. "Everything hurts," she tells him simply. "Everything."

He squeezes her hand. "You want me to get a nurse?"

She shakes her head. "No… no… my head." She opens her eyes and locks onto his with a reticent, watery stare. "Everything inside my head… it hurts."

He furrows his brow, eyes swimming in both concern and confusion. "I don't know what that means, baby," he utters softly. "What does that mean?"

She looks away briefly, back into the nothingness she'd so intently stared into for hours on end yesterday. "It's like it's… It's like I'm…" She looks back at him, a sudden clarity in her gaze. "It's like I'm coming apart… up here," she says, tapping at her skull. "Like things are… clear. And then they're unclear. And I can't hold onto my thoughts."

He nods a bit, thinking through her revelation. "Maybe that's the medication?" he offers gently. "It can make people sort of… out of it."

She shakes her head. "No. It's something in my head." She pauses, dropping his hand so that she can scrub at the tears on her face. She lets out a small, frustrated growl and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes before dropping them and using them to help push herself into a sitting position.

He quickly comes to her aid, chiding even as he helps to position her. "Please be careful," he says, seeing the pained grimace she lets out.

Once she's settled, she looks back over at him. "I don't think it was a dream," she tells him, voice clearer than its been all day. "It was a memory." He nods, waits for her to go on. "I don't really remember all of the other nightmares… all of the dreams over the last few months. But I think they were memories too." She drops her gaze down to her hands, watches with a newfound interest as her fingers tug and pull on one another in her lap. "It's like I'm remembering things I never knew I forgot. And it's… it's…"

He reaches out and quells the worrying of her fingers, splitting apart her hands and holding tight to one as she lays the other atop his. "Just take a breath," he tells her as the beeping of the heart monitor speeds up, rising in time with her anxiety.

She closes her eyes and pulls in a deep breath. "I killed Jean," she breathes out on the exhale. "I think… I think I always knew that. I knew that I played a part." She opens her eyes and gazes into his, pulls all the comfort they have to offer inside to steel herself to say the rest. "She was so… powerful. They needed me. When the Phoenix took over… that _dark_ energy. She couldn't control it. She couldn't fight it. And neither could the Professor. _I_ had to do it." She stops and takes another deep, steadying breath, shaking her head anxiously. "I don't know how I didn't remember," she almost cries out, voice breaking at the end. "I had to do it," she tells him, tears once again swimming in her eyes.

He says nothing, simply nodding for her to go on as he reaches out with his free hand to gently thumb away the tears.

She sucks in a breath and steadies her voice. "I remembered it all. I _saw_ it all."

"This was just after the surgery?"

She nods. "I don't know why this is happening now. I don't know what's happening."

"I know," he says, tone tender, reassuring.

"Maybe when I died… something _did_ happen then. I know something happened because I started to…" Her eyes suddenly bounce to his, wide with shock at what she was just about to say.

"What?" he asks. "You started to _what_?"

Again, her head shakes, an adamant refusal to admit the truth, even as the words spill from her lips. "I didn't want you to worry. And I didn't want you to think I was… I was… going crazy."

"What happened?" he asks, voice dropping an octave. His face hardens, just slightly, just enough to make her worry that she's going to be in big trouble for what she says next.

"I _heard_ them… the energies. I… I can usually push them down deep and make them almost disappear. But they were… coming back. Voices. I recognized some of them… telling me things… saying things… It was like bits and pieces of memories, only happening now. I could hear them like they were right here. Right behind me. Now."

Bucky pulls in a breath, works to keep the alarm from his face. "You were hearing _voices_?" She nods.

"I asked Wanda to help. And she did." He drops her hand suddenly, leaning away from her. A bitter, angry scowl appears on his face. "Don't be mad," she begs. "Don't be mad at her. She was trying to help."

He rises from the bed and begins to pace. "I'm not mad at her," he says, voice low and tight.

"I'm sorry," she admits timidly.

He spins on her. "How many times?" he shoots out vehemently. "How many times did I ask you what was wrong? How many times did I _beg_ you to talk to me? To just…" He shakes his head. "Why the fuck won't you trust me?!"

She startles at his question, in part because of the sheer volume and venom of his voice, and in part because… "I don't know." She looks over at him with sad, almost lost eyes. "I think I just… maybe I was afraid."

"Of what?" His tone is still harsh, but his angry countenance cracks just a bit, giving way to a look of, if not understanding, at least curiosity.

She's silent for a long moment as she thinks about what to say. Truth be told, she hadn't ever really dissected how she felt or why. As much as Tessa eagerly searches for the truth behind every scientific inquiry to enter her mind, she very rarely takes the time to think through why she does the things she does. When the answer finally reveals itself to her, even she is a bit startled by the almost juvenile way the words sound when they spill from her mouth. "I thought you wouldn't love me anymore."

His mouth drops open, brows draw tightly together. "What?" he asks with a hint of disbelief.

Her eyes flit nervously around the room, refusing to settle on his. "If I'm… crazy? I'm… I'm already a mutant freak. And… if I lose it too? And I've seen it happen. I've seen mutants who just can't… keep their shit together. Because they don't know how to deal with their powers or… or…"

"Or what?" he challenges softly.

"I was alone for so long," she says sadly, almost dreamily. "I had this big, huge, loving family. And then they were all gone. And I can't even really remember why," she finishes with a desperate sort of laugh. "I don't think I really even know what happened. And then I was alone." She finally returns her gaze to him. "And then I met Steve. And all of the Avengers. And you. And… and… I feel like there's this voice – not a voice, but, a voice _inside_ my head – telling me that's all gonna happen again. That I'm going to lose everyone, everything, and be alone all over again."

He stops pacing and slowly moves back over to her, leaning heavily against the edge of the bed. He doesn't reach out for her just yet, but his hand does drop down by his side so that his fingers can lazily brush up and down her thigh. "That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that," she utters helplessly. "You don't know what happened. _I_ don't know what happened."

He nods his head and gingerly sits down on the bed. "I know that I'm never going to stop loving you. And I'm never going to leave you."

She aches to reach out for him, and for him to reach out for her. "You almost died," she mumbles, dropping her gaze to her lap.

"But I didn't."

"But you could. Just like Alex. And Scott. And Jean." She pauses, blinking down at her hands. She slowly unfurls them, twisting them around so she can look at her palms. Her brow wrinkles as she feels the familiar uncertainty… _who's hands are these?_ "And Anna," she says finally, almost an afterthought.

He does reach for her then, taking her right hand as she continues to hold it out, staring at it, studying it. He takes it in his and brings it to his lips, her gaze following, moving up to his face as he lays a kiss on her knuckles. Her eyes drift up just a bit and meet his. "Is that where you were going?" he asks simply. "The morning of the accident… were you going home? To figure out what happened?"

She nods. "Professor Xavier, he can… he can get inside my head and fix it. I know he can."

He cocks his head at her a bit. "What did you ask Wanda to do?"

"She just… she made the voices go away." She snuffles a bit, wiping at her face with her free hand. "It's not just that though."

"It's the memories," he finishes for her. "You need to know if they're real." She nods. "And why they're just coming back now." Another nod. "We can call them?" he offers after a moment.

"No." She shakes her head vehemently and, turning her hand in his grasp, squeezes so tight that his tendons rub together. "No don't call."

"Tessa," he breathes out, almost a warning.

"I just want to go home. I just want to go home first and… Can we just wait until then? Until we go back home? Please?"

There's something about the desperate look on her face and the childlike quality to her pleas that makes him nod his assent almost without thinking. "But I'm calling Wanda," he says suddenly a stern note to his voice.

"You said you weren't mad at her," she argues weakly.

He looks deeply into her green eyes, so eager to once again see some light there, some peace. " _You_ said she helped you." He kisses her hand once more before gently laying it on the bed as he rises. "And I lied," he tells her as he pulls his cell from his back pocket. "I'm pissed as hell at her. And she's gonna earn my forgiveness by helping you again."


	58. Fix This

When Wanda arrives at the hospital the next morning, it's with a rather reticent-looking Steve in tow.

Bucky rises from his spot near Tessa's bed and meets the two at the door. "Were you afraid you'd need a bodyguard?" he asks with a cocked brow.

The phone call last night wasn't exactly friendly. Bucky's words were clipped short, tone bitter and threatening, as he relayed everything that Tessa had told him. And Wanda, while apologetic, was more than a bit defensive when explaining to him just exactly what she had done to help, and why. But she hadn't mentioned anything about feeling the need to bring along a buffer. And truthfully, Bucky wasn't too sure that he wanted to tell Steve what was going on just yet… not until he had the chance to figure it all out himself.

Wanda looks at Bucky, then flicks her gaze to Steve. "I could end both of you," she says with smug surety, before striding into the room and over to her friend.

Bucky's jaw ticks as his head swivels to watch her walk past, but it snaps back in place quickly when Steve makes a move to cross into the room as well. "What are you doing here?" he asks him, more intensity to his voice than he intends.

Steve very nearly sputters, caught off guard as he tries to find his words. "I… uh… Wanda said I should…"

"Why?" he asks simply, dropping the stilling hand that he'd thrown up in front of Steve. "What did she tell you?"

Steve pulls in a deep breath. "Buck," he lets out, voice sounding sad, almost regretful.

"Just tell him," Wanda calls out. Both men look to see her standing by the hospital bed, a rather confused-looking Tessa shifting her eyes suspiciously from them to Wanda and back again. "Come in here," she says with far more authority than any of them had ever heard her speak before. "And _tell_ them."

Bucky levels Steve with a dubious stare. "Tell me what?"

" _Us_ ," Tessa corrects from the bed as the men slowly approach. She pulls herself into a seated position, grimacing a bit as she does so. "Tell us what?"

"Steve?" Wanda questions – pushes – when he stills at the foot of the bed, saying nothing.

Then, after a deep, steadying breath, he looks at Tessa and reveals, "Nat and I went to the school where you grew up."

Tessa says nothing, her expression fixed. But Bucky's face twists in confusion as he asks, "What? When?" Steve refuses to make eye contact, so he looks to Wanda. "Why?"

"Don't ask me," she says simply. "I wasn't invited."

Steve turns to face him, his right hand white knuckling the rail at the end of the bed as he speaks. "The other night, when Natasha was here," he starts hesitantly. "The blackout… it wasn't a blackout."

"What do you mean?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"Tessa did… something. She was sick…" He turns to her, gives her an affectionate, understanding look. "I know you didn't know what you were doing. But…" He shifts his gaze back to Bucky. "Nat said that she had a blue light coming out of her. And she…" He pauses briefly, shaking his head. "She… sucked out her energy. And burned her. And then the entire floor lost power."

Tessa gasps, bringing Steve's eyes back to her. "I hurt her?" she questions, her voice nearly breaking at the end.

Wanda reaches out and takes her hand. "No. No, of course not. She's fine. And she doesn't blame you at all."

"But…"

"But nothing," Steve says in his _end of discussion_ tone. He turns back to Bucky and sees him staring forward, his mouth hanging open as though he's about to speak. But the furrowed brow and the faraway, confused look to his eyes tell Steve that he doesn't really know quite what to say. So he speaks up again. "I told you she was headed that direction when she got in the accident. You said someone from her past had come to see her the day before. I thought… she must've been going up there. And she probably wouldn't have been going unless something was really… wrong." He lets out a quick sigh. "And whatever happened here that night… was _really wrong_."

Bucky nods slowly. "That's where you were the other day, when she was in surgery," he states, no question to his voice.

"Yes," Steve responds simply.

"And you didn't tell me," he says, voice tight.

"He's telling you now," Wanda interjects. "Right Steve?"

He ignores her question, looking Bucky in the eye when he says, "You needed to be here with her. And you had enough on your mind."

"But you took Romanov…" He pivots to face the women next to him. "And you told _Wanda_?"

"He asked me to help," she states calmly, before turning back to Tessa. "He asked me if I could… see if there was something going on in your head."

Bucky seethes. "You asked her to get inside her head?"

"No," he protests. "No, I was trying to help," he argues, voice rising in both volume and intensity.

"You _lied_ to me. I asked you where you were. And you fucking lied to me."

Steve nods definitively. "I did what I thought was best."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Wait," Tessa nearly shrieks, breaking through the tension. "Just… wait." They all turn back to her. "You went to the school?" Steve nods. Her voice is nervous, pace slow, when she asks, "Who did you talk to? Who was there?"

The defensive, righteous look that Steve had been leveling Bucky with just a moment before melts away. He can see that she's not mad, not at the moment at least. She just wants to know about her family. "Storm was there… she greeted us. And we talked to Professor Xavier. And there was some guy named Logan."

She actually laughs at that, a big, hearty – though short – guffaw. "You met Logan?" she asks with beaming smile.

Steve's face curls up in confusion. "Uh… yeah."

"Did you hate him?" she asks, amusement still playing on her features.

"Yeah," he nods. "Kind of."

Bucky shakes his head, anger and impatience taking over as he spins away from her and back towards Steve. "What happened?" he spits out. "What did they say that you were so _desperate_ to keep from us?"

Steve shakes his head sadly. "I was going to tell you." He locks onto Bucky's irritated glare. "Tessa was having surgery. I thought that this could wait."

"It waited," he growls out. "Now say it."

Steve would be lying if he were to say that Bucky's stare didn't intimidate him. He knew that heated look all too well. He'd seen it when they were kids, just before Bucky readied himself to throw a punch. And when they were on the front, anytime they encountered Hydra. And on the helicarrier above DC when he refused to believe that Steve was anything more than his mission. But while he knows that this look spells danger, he also feels like he's being accused of some sort of impropriety, some kind of transgression. And frankly, that really pisses him off. So he says nothing, instead choosing to cock a challenging eyebrow at the super soldier next to him, leading them both into a tense, unblinking stare-down.

Wanda lets out a deep, disappointed sigh as she watches the juvenile display unfold. She looks to Tessa. "When you came to me for help, you said that you thought something had broken in you."

She nods affirmatively. "And you told me I wasn't broken."

"I did," she says with a small smile. "But… as it turns out, you might've been right." She quirks a brow over at Steve, who along with Bucky is now watching her cautiously. "Steve said that Professor Xavier is a powerful telepath?"

She nods. "Maybe the most powerful."

"Well… he told them that he built a wall inside your head," she explains gently, each word uttered slowly and with care. "He said that you needed help. That he had asked you to do something and you couldn't live with the consequences." She pauses and watches Tessa's face carefully to make sure that her words are sinking in. "He was afraid you would die without his help."

"He built a wall?" she asks, her voice sounding oddly distant. Wanda nods. "And he put memories on the other side of it… painful memories," she utters, a statement, not a question.

"He did it to save your life."

She nods slowly, realization blooming in her eyes. "The wall broke," she mutters. "When I drowned… the wall broke." She lets out a small, relieved sort of laugh. "I _did_ break. And now…" She looks up at Bucky with a wide smile. "I'm not crazy."

Steve pulls in a breath. "He doesn't know for sure what it all means…" he says, speaking about the Professor. "Or what exactly is happening. But he'd like to see you."

"Did you tell them where she was?" Bucky asks.

He shakes his head. "We didn't tell them that she was in the hospital. I didn't want to tell them anything."

"You didn't trust them," he ventures. Bucky turns to Tessa. "But you do?"

She hears a sort of desperation in his voice, a pleading quality. _Tell me he can fix this_ , it says. _Tell me you believe that he can fix this._ She nods. "I do."

Bucky nods his head slowly. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

Steve looks over at him. "Okay what?" His voice rises in pitch. "You're gonna bring him here?"

"Bring him here?" Bucky asks, his face pinching, brow furrowing. "No. Not unless Tessa wants us to."

She shakes her head. "I still want to wait. I just… I want to go there. And I don't want to go… like this."

Bucky turns to Wanda, takes a deep breath and runs a tired hand through his hair. "And you can help, right? You said you could help… calm her mind… until then."

She nods. "I'll do what I can."

"I think," Steve interjects, choking on his words. He lets out a long sigh and throws a quick glance at Bucky before looking back at Tessa. "If whatever's happening is affecting your powers," he begins again, "and if you really do think that the Professor can help… if you really do trust him, then I think we should talk to him sooner rather than later."

Bucky swings around and gives him an incredulous look, one laced with hostility. "Excuse me?" he bites out. "You weren't even going to tell us about – "

"I was going to tell you," he interrupts in an aggravated tone.

"It's because I hurt Nat?" Tessa asks meekly, leaning forward uncomfortably.

Steve glances over at her, but finds it almost impossible to maintain eye contact as he says, "I have to protect the team," with an obvious reluctance to his voice.

She blanches a bit, her eyes going wide. But her tone is strong and assured when she replies, "Yeah. I guess so."

Bucky reaches out and clamps his metal hand around Steve's upper arm. "Can I talk to you a minute?" he asks, very little question in his voice as he drags his friend out into the hallway before the man can even respond. When he drops his arm, he gives the super soldier a quick shove, moving him a ways down the hall and out of earshot of the room. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" he growls at him.

Steve's head dips as he shakes it dejectedly. "Buck – "

"You can't just…" he interrupts angrily, quickly clamping his mouth shut when he recognizes the increase in volume of his own voice. He looks around the hall to make sure no one is watching, then takes in a deep breath and glares over at Steve – his best friend, his _brother_. "You lied to me," he hisses at him. There's anger in his voice, of course. But it's more than just that. There's a sort of disbelief, a hint of astonishment. And betrayal. His words simply ooze a sense of betrayal. "You went behind my back," he goes on, leveling a pointed finger in Steve's face. "You didn't say a single word about where you were going or what you were doing. Even when I asked you."

Steve's eyes drop, his face crestfallen. "Bucky," he says, not sure where to go from there.

But Bucky's not done. His voice is low and menacing as he continues. "You came here yesterday. You sat in that room with me – with both of us – and you didn't say a damn word!"

"I know. I'm sorry." He looks back up and meets his friend's stormy eyes. "I was going to tell you. I just wanted Tessa to be better first."

"Better? She's not gonna be _better_ for a long time, Steve," he says with a cynical huff, the anger leaving his voice just enough to be replaced by a sort of annoyed admonishment. "She's not like us. She can't just heal overnight."

"I know."

"And now you're saying that you _don't_ want to wait? Five minutes ago you wanted to keep this all some kind of big secret, and now you want run off and… and… what?" Bucky's face looks almost broken, his brows twisted in a sort of pained confusion, the sad, drawn look of disappointment still smoldering beneath a haze of anger.

Steve stares at him for a long moment, his mouth parting slightly as he works to find the right words, tries to figure out just what he can say to explain his actions. It's true that he kept this from them because he didn't want them to worry. He didn't want to just lay a giant, steaming crisis on their doorstep. He didn't want to give them yet _another_ problem to contend with. He wanted to fix it, come to them with a solution. "I just want to help." Yes, that's it. That's what he wants, what he's wanted all along. "I was just trying to help."

Bucky scrubs his rough hands over his face. "Yeah," he utters, a single, evasive word.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I think…" He lets out a sad sort of sigh. "I think I was afraid that you'd tell me not to go. Or maybe you'd say that you wanted to come along. And you couldn't… she needed you here."

Bucky looks up at him, his face stony, but his eyes beginning to soften as he waits for Steve to go on.

"And I was going to tell you then, right after we saw Xavier. But you left a voicemail saying that Tess had to have her _kidney_ removed." His face twists in a mixture of dread and sorrow. "That's… that's serious."

" _This_ is serious," he counters. His tone still carries a sharpness to it, but the bitter quality has faded. "You said she hurt Romanov?" Steve nods. "And you think she'll do it again?"

"No," he blurts out defensively, scrunching his brow as he quickly shakes his head. "No, I don't think she'll _do it_ again. I think it happened because she was sick and… and… lost control. It wasn't her fault. I know it wasn't her fault." He pauses for a moment, connecting with Bucky's eyes. "But it could _happen_ again."

Bucky nods solemnly. "Maybe."

"That's why I told Wanda. That's why I asked her to… keep an eye on Tess, maybe check in with her. I just needed us all to be prepared."

" _All_?" he questions suddenly. "Who else knows?"

Steve shakes his head. "No one. No one else. Just me, Nat, and Wanda." Bucky lets out a deflated sigh, dropping his head into his hands. "And Clint," Steve ekes out nervously, almost as an afterthought. "Natasha told him."

He rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back as he says, voice full of exasperation, "You have got to be kidding me."

"No one else knows," Steve quickly issues out. "Not yet. But… Buck…" He pulls in a deep breath. "If she actually does think that Xavier can fix this, then I think we need to bring him in. Her powers… Xavier said that her abilities are _potentially limitless_. What she did to Jean Grey…"

Bucky's gaze shoots back to him. "He told you about that?"

"Yeah," he says with a short, sad nod. "Listen, pal. I know Tessa would never _mean_ to hurt anyone. But if she loses control like that again… or worse?" He shakes his head despairingly. "My first responsibility has to be to this team. To the people on the team."

Bucky lets out a quick, sardonic laugh. "The _team_ … right."

Steve's eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"

He turns on him, leveling him with an icy stare. "Where was your concern for the _team_ when you put together that half-assed plan to get Lobe? How were you doing what's right for the _team_ when you brought in an untrained _scientist_ and had her take the lead on a op that could've gotten her killed? What members of the _team_ were you looking out for when you gave the okay for her to get into that trunk? Or when you told me to take out the car? Or when you let that bastard get away?"

Steve stands in shocked silence, his eyes wide, mouth gaping open as he stares at the seething man before him.

"Everything was _fine_ until that damn mission. None of this would be happening right now if you would've just listened to me. And Stark. Even Barton and the damn robot said that it was a bad idea." Bucky pokes a strident finger into Steve's chest when he bitterly spits out, " _You_ started this."

Steve lets out a strained breath, his face quickly pulling into an indignant scowl. "You think I don't know that?" he shoots out, his voice thick with rage. "You think I don't know that this is all my fault?" For a brief moment he sees Bucky's face fall, the angry, accusatory glare melting and morphing into something akin to pity. He feels a bit of his own vitriol fade as well. "I am trying to help," he issues out slowly, pleadingly. "I am trying to fix this."

Bucky's expression turns stony once again, his gaze stern when he locks onto Steve's guilt-filled eyes and says, "You don't get to fix this." He takes a step closer to the man and places his right hand on his shoulder. "What happens now… it's not up to you. None of it is." He squeezes tight, his fingers digging into Steve's flesh just enough to elicit a wince. He leans in closer still, his stormy gray eyes boring into the oh-so-familiar bright blue ones in front of him. "If you ever put her in jeopardy again, if you ever interfere with her or go behind my back to _help_ her again…" He pauses just long enough to give a grave shake of the head, his stare remaining fixed. "We will not be friends. We will not be _teammates._ We won't be _anything_ to each other." He releases his grip and gives Steve's shoulder a quick, firm pat before taking a step back and asking simply, "Got it?"

Steve nods hesitantly, pride keeping him from dropping Bucky's gaze no matter how much it pains him to look into those cold eyes. "Understood."


	59. Bros Before Hos

"Six weeks?!" she nearly shouts at the doctor. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Dr. Hammond just shakes her head, calm demeanor remaining intact despite Tessa's outburst. "No weight bearing for six weeks. We'll take some more X-rays then, see how the bone regrowth is going, and hopefully move you into more intensive physical therapy at that point. But," she says, a sharp edge to her voice, "absolutely no weight on that leg for at least six weeks."

Tessa sits in the bed, mouth agape. She glares down at her left leg as it dangles off the side of the bed. A bulky brace now envelopes it, a welcome change of pace from the metal rods that poked out of her flesh for over a week. The surgery to remove the external fixators was done just yesterday. And while she's relieved to have all of the metal securing her bones hidden away _inside_ her leg, the pain that's been blooming from the new internal fixation for the last day and a half has completely frayed her nerves. She's more than ready to go home, but… "I don't… I can't…"

The doctor gives her a quick pat on the shoulder and says, "Look on the bright side. If everything goes well, those two surgeries should do it. No more digging around inside your leg, setting bones and ligaments." She wiggles her eyebrows at her. "I promise to keep my fingers out of you so long as you adhere to the schedule."

"But…" she starts, unable to find the words to argue.

"Nope, no buts," she says as she spins around to look at Bucky, who's standing like a sentry off to the side. "I trust that you can keep her in line?"

He shrugs, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Haven't been able to so far."

The doctor just smiles, stifles a laugh, and tosses a wave over her shoulder as she scurries out of the room.

Bucky glances over at Tessa and raises a single questioning brow. "You gonna be good?" he asks with a smirk, seeing her still-shocked expression.

"Six _weeks_?" she replies, her voice breaking at the end. She flops down into the pillows, grimacing at the movement and immediately regretting the dramatic display. She curls her face into the pillow, muffling her words. "I don't think I'm gonna make it."

"No?" he asks with an amused grin.

She shifts just enough to look over at him. "No. Call it. Don't bother taking me home. Send me to the morgue. It's where I belong. I'm dead."

He laughs despite himself, stepping closer to the bed. "Don't _ever_ say that," he says, trying to sound commanding. She lets out a long groan in response and he leans over to haul her into a sitting position once again, slowly pulling her up by the shoulders. "I think we both know that the next six weeks are going to be just as hard on me as they will be on you. Don't take all the pity for yourself."

"I love you. But I hate you," she says with a roll of her eyes.

Bucky turns to take another look around the room, taking stock of all their stuff. He has a backpack in the corner with his things – some clothes and a toothbrush – already packed up. A bag with Tessa's belongings sits by the door. Everything that they're being given – care instructions, extra dressings, and a shiny set of crutches – are on the edge of the bed along with the discharge papers. There's only one thing he's not quite sure about. "What the hell are we gonna do with all these flowers?" he asks, brow furrowed. Between the Avengers, her staff at the lab, the new associates at U-Gin, and Miss Pepper Potts herself, they've accumulated enough flowers over the past two weeks to rival a botanical garden. He returns his gaze to Tessa. "We don't have to take these with us, do we?"

She shrugs and shimmies across the bed to grab the crutches. "The ones Pepper sent on Friday… I want those. We can probably have the hospital do something with the rest… maybe give them to other patients." She positions one crutch on her right side, but has trouble setting the other up on her left. Because she'd been in bed, largely not moving for the last couple of weeks, they hadn't been as strict about her keeping her left arm in a sling so the broken collarbone could mend. But now that she's being discharged, she's been told in no uncertain terms that the sling must remain in place for at least another week. Which makes crutches currently impossible.

He stares at her, raising a single amused eyebrow as she frowns down at the crutch, trying to somehow pinch it between her side and the braced arm. "You know this isn't happening, right?" he asks, watching with a smirk

She lets out a frustrated growl. "I will not be in a wheelchair. I won't!"

"You just have to use it to leave," he mentions with a shrug as he tugs the crutches away from her. "Once we get home, you'll mostly be in bed anyway."

She looks up at him suspiciously. "Any opportunity to get me into bed, huh?" Before he can respond, her face transforms, a sly grin taking over. "I guess that if I _have_ to be in bed…"

He shakes his head, lips pursed together as he furrows his brow. "I feel like we had a very similar conversation just a few weeks back… only it was me be released and you saying that I wasn't gonna get lucky any time soon."

She snorts indignantly. "You got some like a day later."

"It was more like a week," he corrects. "Don't test my memory when it comes to sex." He taps a finger on his skull and smirks at her. "Like a steel trap."

She frowns over at the wheelchair in the corner of the room, almost despondent about the fact that she has to climb into it in order to get to go home. "You won't want to have sex with me anyway," she laments pathetically. "Not after helping me on and off the toilet."

He lets out a light laugh, eyes twinkling mirthfully as he hands her a pen and moves the remaining discharge papers in front of her for a signature. "You're probably right."

"We're about to kill any and all remaining mystery in this relationship," she huffs out sadly, scrawling on the paper. Then, looking up at him with a pitiful frown, "At least wait until you get me back home before taking off and abandoning me?"

"Baby, I'm a hundred. I'm too damn old to try and find anything better." She tries to look perturbed, deepening her scowl, but he can see the amusement shining through the pout. "You're stuck with me," he tells her, pulling the wheelchair over to the bed.

They return to the Avengers Compound in the back of a limo… as though Tony Stark would have it any other way. Despite being desperate to get back home – to be surrounded by the comforting familiarity of home, to sleep in her own bed, to _maybe_ sneak in some work on her laptop – Tessa passes out before they even hit the freeway. It's a saving grace, really. Not only for her – because every short stop and pothole as they move through the city sends stabs of pain radiating throughout her body – but for Bucky too. He'd been worried all morning about how he was going to be able to corral her into bed and keep her off her feet.

But even now, as his girl's head bounces listlessly on his shoulder, her body lost in a peaceful slumber… even now, as the two of them _finally_ are heading back home… even now, he finds that he still can't quite relax.

Wanda's done wonders for her over the past several days, helping to calm her mind so that her body can have the time it needs to heal. But they all know that what's bubbling beneath the surface isn't going to stay stagnant for long. Every time Tessa's gaze turns off toward nothing, he feels bile rise up into his throat. And every time she drifts off to sleep, he tenses painfully, steeling himself for the terror to come. It's an awful sort of waiting game now. They're simply trapped in a tense stalemate that's punctuated by moments like these – moments of calm… moments of normalcy.

He doesn't try to wake her once they get back. He just scoops her up and carries her straight to bed. Sam meets them at the car, gathers their things, and wordlessly helps them maneuver up to the apartment.

Bucky looks around the place as he enters and cocks a suspicious brow. "I know I haven't been here in a while," he starts, tone wary. "But this looks… different."

Tessa lets out a small moan and curls further into his chest as Sam lightly prattles on about how Tony had someone come in to clean the place for them and that's probably why every room smells like lemons. "I'd say I'm sure no workers took anything," he says quietly, almost a whisper. "But I wouldn't be surprised if Stark confiscated knickknacks or clothes or anything else he decided wasn't cool enough." He flashes a bright smile as he swings open the bedroom door for them. "I'd check your closets."

000

As long as Tessa's still out cold, Bucky decides to try and catch up on some sleep of his own. It feels good to be back in their bed, even if he is wary of being next to her. The broken left leg lies between them in the center of the bed, which means that Bucky winds up curled into a tight ball near the edge to avoid even the possibility of coming into contact with it. "We're gonna have to switch sides," he mutters to himself just before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He wakes later that evening, feeling more rested than he has in weeks, despite only having slept a handful of hours. It must be something about being home, he realizes. Even the tightness in his shoulders has released a bit; the giant, fearful pit in his stomach dissipating just enough for him to be able to breath.

He's about to head into the kitchen to get dinner started when Steve knocks at the door.

He's not surprised to see his friend, though he'd only been by the hospital once over the last week – just once since their heated _discussion_ in the hallway. And he's certainly not surprised to see that he has a giant steaming pot of his ma's chicken soup in hand when he does arrive. But he most definitely _is_ surprised that Steve not only _knocks_ at the door, but also has Friday announce him. _And_ he waits for Bucky to actually invite him in.

"I didn't think I should just barge in," Steve explains, ducking his gaze sheepishly as he sidesteps into the kitchen. "I made soup." He sets the pot on the stove and slowly pivots back around to face Bucky. "Just thought I'd drop it by," he says with a shrug.

Bucky leans on the counter near the doorway and nods. "Thanks."

Another shrug. "I know Tess really likes it." He blushes a bit when he says, "She calls it the cure-all soup."

"Yeah, I know. She says it can fix any kind of bad day." He furrows his brow for a moment, one corner of his mouth perked in a clever half smile. "Not sure why it took you this long to make it."

Steve's face relaxes just a bit when he sees Bucky's grin. "Well," he intones with a sigh. "I didn't want to overstep." Bucky lets out the smallest chuckle before falling silent. "Anyway," he starts up again, feeling an awkwardness creep in through the quiet, "I figured you'd still be beat and wouldn't want to cook."

"Yeah," he says simply. "Really. Thanks. Tessa'll love it."

"Love what?" They hear Tessa's soft voice from the hall, both of their heads swiveling to glance over the breakfast bar as she hobbles nearer. She sniffs at the air and asks, bright – albeit tired – smile on her face, "Is that your mom's chicken soup?"

Bucky pushes off the counter with a frown. "What are you doing out of bed?" he asks as he steps over to her. Then, indicating the crutches she's using, "And where the hell did you get those?"

Her face is the epitome of pure innocence when she says, "These? You left them by the bed."

He shakes his head as he pulls out a stool and guides her onto it as though he's sitting a small child down at the table. "No, I set them by the closet. Purposefully away from you." She rolls her eyes as he pulls out another seat at the bar and gently props her leg up onto it. "How did you get to them?"

Once settled, she merely shrugs. "I reached." He cocks a skeptical eyebrow at her. "What? How else was I supposed to get around?"

"You tell me and I'll help you." He takes the crutches and deposits them up against a wall in the living room. "You're not supposed to be using those yet." She rolls her eyes again and lets out a dramatic _psh_ , drawing his suspicious glare once more. "Where's your sling?"

"Don't need it," she says with a yawn. She shifts in her seat and looks to Steve, who's been eerily quiet this whole time, standing shyly by the stove with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. She opens her mouth to ask him for some soup, but her lips quickly clamp shut when she notes his nervous demeanor. "What's with him?" she asks Bucky as he sweeps past her and into the bedroom. Then, seeing that he's disappeared, she turns back to Steve. "What's with you?"

He gives her an odd look, as though he wants to tell her something but won't. "Nothing," he replies, shaking his head suddenly. He unfolds his arms and reaches around to grab the ladle from out of the still-steaming pot. "You hungry?"

Now it's her turn to glare suspiciously, though she nods just the same, desperate for some cure-all soup. He digs around in the cupboard for a bowl, scoops up some soup, and lays the bowl in front of her, all while expertly avoiding eye contact.

"Here," Bucky says, suddenly reemerging and thrusting a sling at her right as she prepares to pick up her spoon. "Put it on."

Tessa takes the sling with a sigh. "I thought I lost it."

He helps her slip her left arm through it, ignoring the annoyed groan she lets out as he does so. "Funny. I found it shoved under the mattress," he says. "Looked more like someone was trying to hide it."

She gives him a crooked smile. "Now, why would you feel the need to check under the mattress? It's almost like you don't trust me." He raises his eyebrows at her and she responds with an irritated huff. "I don't need it. My collar bone was _barely_ fractured. Hairline. They just sent it home as a precaution, to cover their asses in case somebody looks at the discharge papers and says, _huh, that's weird. She had a broken clavicle, but no one gave her a sling_." Bucky's brows rise even higher as he crosses his arms and lets out a tight breath through his nose. "I. Don't. Need. It."

"I should go," Steve issues out suddenly, making a beeline for the door.

Bucky pivots to face him as Tessa nearly shouts, "No, wait." He stills just outside the kitchen doorway and looks over to her. "Don't leave me alone with Nurse Ratchet," she says with a dramatic pout.

Steve shakes his head hesitantly. "I…"

"Seriously," she interrupts, her face quickly changing and taking on an earnest, if stern, frown. "What is going on?"

Bucky lets out a deep sigh and squeezes past Steve to get into the kitchen. "He's just sore because I told him we wouldn't be friends anymore if he ever pulled that shit again," he says as he grabs a bowl and serves himself up some soup.

Tessa's forehead crinkles in confusion. "What shit?"

" _What shit?_ " He turns around to face her, leans his hip against the counter as he holds up his bowl and blows a cooling breath across the top of it. "He went behind our backs, remember?"

"Wait," she starts, sounding almost bewildered. "What?"

Bucky stares at her long and hard. "He had no right to go to the school without talking to us first. He overstepped."

"Overstepped?" she asks with a small laugh, her eyes bouncing quickly from Bucky to Steve. The slight, sardonic smile dies on her face when she sees the seriousness in both of their eyes. She looks back to Bucky. "You said you wouldn't be friends anymore? What does that even mean?"

He swallows a mouthful of broth. "What do you mean _what does it mean_?"

"I mean…" She drops her spoon with a thunk onto the bar beside her untouched bowl of soup.

"It's fine, Tess," Steve says quietly. She turns to face him. "He had every right."

Her expression contorts into an almost bitter scowl. "No he didn't. You two have been friends for almost a century. You're _family_." Her eyes continue to bounce back and forth between them. "And what, you were going to throw that away over… over… some girl?"

"Some girl?" Bucky sputters with a laugh. "You do realize that you're that girl, right?" Her lips pull into an angry purse as she levels him with a threatening stare. He huffs out a breath and sets the bowl down on the counter behind him. "Look, I was angry, okay? He lied to me. He kept things from me… things about you. And he had no right to do that."

"Why because I'm _your girl_?" she asks, a very clear disdain rolling off her tongue.

His brows draw together, face pinching, as he tells her, "You're damn right that's why."

"Okay," Steve interjects, eager to quell the rising tension. He holds out a stilling hand to Tessa, the movement just enough to keep her from launching into a sudden tirade. He looks her dead in the eye and says, a stern sort of calmness to his voice, "He was just reminding me to respect your relationship. That's all. And he wasn't wrong to do it."

Her eyes grow wide. " _Bullshit_ , he wasn't wrong." She shifts her gaze to Bucky again, sees that he looks almost calm too, now that Steve has intervened to speak some truth. The fact that he no longer seems defensive only makes her angrier. Her eyes shoot back to Steve. "Haven't you ever heard the expression _Bros before hos_?"

He wrinkles his brow. "No."

Bucky lets out a small chuckle despite himself. He knows she's angry, and he doesn't really want to push things right now. But… "Did you just call yourself a ho?"

Her eyes very nearly roll back into her head, so deep is the eyeroll that comes out of her. "Oh my God," she grumbles. Then, turning back to Steve and letting out a long, laborious sigh, "He doesn't get to say that to you," she states clearly.

Steve steps up to her, folds his arms across his chest, and in a very no-nonsense tone, replies, "Yes, actually, he does. Our friendship is important, but it's not more important than what you two have."

Her brows wrinkle in confusion. "That's not true." She looks to Bucky, eager for him to agree with her. But he simply stands in the middle of the kitchen, eyes directed at the floor. He clearly doesn't want to confirm Steve's words, but he also can't argue with them. She turns back to Steve, a look of utter shock on her face. "That's not true. It's different, but… family is family."

"And _you're_ his family," he tells her soberly.

An angry shadow passes over her eyes. "He only said those things because he's being overly protective… territorial. But I'm not his property. I'm not his territory."

Bucky looks up then. "I never said that you were. I would never say that."

Steve lays a gentle hand on her arm, pulling her frazzled gaze away from Bucky. "He doesn't own you," he says, the words teeming with an almost superior air. "But you do _belong_ to him." She straightens up, ready to protest, but he cuts her off. "And he belongs to you." He gives her arm a quick pat and takes a step back. "You _belong_ to each other, and that is… bigger than what we have. It just is. And it should be."

She shakes her head, her tone petulant when she croaks out, "No. I don't care." She juts out her chin defiantly as she looks at Steve. "You don't ever let him say that you won't be friends, you hear me?"

He drops his gaze, looking almost self-conscious as he struggles to hold back the shy smile blooming on his lips at her fervor. "Okay, Tess."

"I mean it," she tells him, voice low and serious and just for him. She leans in. "He _needs_ you." Steve looks up, locking onto her eyes. She gives him a quick nod and repeats, "He needs you."

"Okay," he says, this time sounding more poised. Then he leans in as well and whispers to her, "He needs you more." She gives him a weary look. "You should eat your soup."

"I'm not sure I'm hungry anymore."

He cocks his head at her and lets out a long-held breath. "Tessa… How are you?" he asks, feeling free to inquire for the first time since the truth unveiling at the hospital. "How's it going with Wanda?"

She looks up at him long and hard, a deep scowl gathering on her face for a moment before it slowly melts away to reveal a sort of somberness. She knows why he's only just now asking her about this. "Oh, Steve," she breathes out. "He made you scared to talk to me."

The fact that she states the words instead of phrasing them as a question shows him that there's really no point in arguing. But he's also not going to confirm it. It is, after all, a bit more complicated than that. "You're doing better?" he asks, choosing not to address her utterance at all.

Her eyes veer over to Bucky, who's looming in the far corner of the kitchen. She lets out a hopeless sounding sigh before turning back to him. "Sure," she says with a nod. "Better."

He smiles down at her. "I want to help," he says sincerely. "In whatever way you want… whatever way you need." He tosses a quick glance at Bucky, sighing long and low before returning his gaze to her. "But you need to tell me what I can do. I'm not going to step in again." He takes a large stride back and ducks his head once more. "It's not my place."

Tessa's eyes form a sudden sheen of tears as she watches him slink away. A feeling of tremendous guilt washes over her, and she's honestly not sure if the tormented energy is rolling off of him, wafting over from Bucky, or sprouting up from within. Maybe it's all three. "I think," she starts, solemnly. "I think I'd like to go back to bed now."


	60. Anna

By day two of being back at home, there's already a steady stream of people coming and going from their apartment at all hours of the day. And there's no end in sight.

Steve, for all his talk about maintaining distance and not stepping in where he isn't needed, stops by every morning and evening. He's there by six, begging Bucky to go for a run and bringing Tessa freshly brewed coffee from the common area – because _someone_ replaced all the coffee in the apartment with decaf. Bucky refuses to run, of course. Tessa needs him. She can't use her crutches yet. She's definitely gonna have to pee after the coffee he brings settles into her system, and someone needs to help her to the bathroom.

But his resolve is broken after the fourth day. As much as he loves her, and as worried as he is about – well, everything right now – he _needs_ to get away for a bit. "She actually army crawled to the couch yesterday," he tells Steve halfway through their run. "From the _bedroom_. And then she accused me of smothering her when I propped an extra pillow under her leg."

"She's going stir crazy," he says, defending his other friend. "She's got to take her frustrations out somehow, and you're the most convenient punching bag."

He slows to a stop, an aberrant thought catching him off guard. "She might actually punch me," he realizes out loud. "What do I do if she punches me?"

Steve laughs about that for days.

In the evenings, Steve brings by food. It's entirely unnecessary as Tony has a high-end sort of meals-on-wheels delivering food to them daily. There's so much food, in fact, that Bucky sends leftovers home with every single visitor to come through their door. But that doesn't stop Steve from making a giant lasagna that lasts nearly the entire week. Nor does it keep him from bringing over fresh fruits and vegetables from the farmers market that weekend. And then there's the day that he brings over two loaves of freshly baked bread… when he'd learned how to make bread was anyone's guess.

Apparently, food is a common theme during convalescence. That first Saturday that they're home, Bucky returns from his run to find Sam setting up to bake his "world famous" peanut butter cookies. When he enters the apartment, he can already hear the man lamely prattling on about life in the city, impersonating his landlord and insisting that – eventually – he'll have to make the move up here, just to get away from the crazy old coot.

At first, Bucky's annoyed as hell that the Falcon thinks he can just barge in and commandeer his kitchen. But then he hears Tessa's hearty laugh as she watches from the breakfast bar while Sam dances around their kitchen. And he sees her eyes brighten and crinkle at the sides with a wide smile the likes of which he hasn't seen in what feels like ages.

And as much as it pains him to admit it – because he really just wants her to rest and heal and not worry about _anything_ – he sees that same sort of joy in Tessa's face when Bruce comes by later that day to give her the low down on the lab.

Slowly, it starts to feel like things are returning to some kind of normal. After the rant that Tessa unleashes on the fourth day, Bucky gives up and lets her have the crutches, which means she's on the move almost immediately. Luckily, work – whether it be in the lab, on the medical floor, or even just in her office downstairs – is strictly off limits. And to be clear, that is per Tony, who actually programed Friday to block certain calls, emails, and data streams from entering their apartment _and_ temporarily revoked Tessa's access to the lab et al. The more Bucky thinks about it, the more he realizes that Tony's far more likely to be the first victim of her frustrated fist.

If there's one thing in particular that – sadly – really does feel like normal to him, it's being chased out of his own apartment by Natasha. She comes by most afternoons, freshly showered following training sessions with the newbies, and ready to just relax. More often than not, she and Tessa end up watching cheesy romantic comedies together on her laptop, snuggled up in bed like a couple of teenage girls. Clint tags along every now and then, burrowing under the covers along with them as they happily litter the bed with popcorn. Sometimes Wanda joins them too, but her time with Tessa is typically more… therapeutic.

She comes by every morning, usually a bit after Bucky and Steve leave on their run, to check in and see how Tessa is doing. To see if she needs help calming her mind.

Wanda's primary goal – her _assignment_ , as Steve and Bucky had put it – is to help control the fracture in her friend's mind, to keep the voices and hurtful memories and bad energy at bay until Tessa's able to find a way to work through it all. Truth be told, Wanda thinks the whole thing is ridiculous. If this Professor Xavier built the wall in Tessa's head that's now crumbling, then they should be going to him to fix it. What the hell does she know about this sort of thing?

All she can really do is put up a sort of veil in her friend's mind. She simply tucks away the bad and harmful thoughts and energies, keeping them out of the woman's consciousness so that she can focus on the here and now. But it's blatantly obvious to both her and Tessa that everyday more bad and harmful things are floating to the surface. Everyday, Wanda has to go in and sweep some more away, brushing it all off into a corner of Tessa's mind, knowing that it's only a matter of time before the nooks and crannies overflow and all of the voices, the energies, the nightmares… the memories, come bursting out.

They know this, of course. But Tessa remains adamant about continuing to wait to contact the Professor.

The good news is that this _maintenance_ doesn't take much time at all, leaving the two women plenty of time to do other things. Sure, they talk and laugh and, in general, get to know each other better. But their bond is based on something so much more than just shared experiences and a mutual love of croissants. They're powerful. They're super human. They're capable of so many things.

It's only a matter of time before they begin to explore how their powers can interact. Several months ago, just before they had stopped their sessions together, they realized that Wanda could, if she really focused, move not just objects, but could actually alter the movement of molecules. And so a new game is formed wherein each of each of them tries to keep the other from changing the matter phases of water – Wanda by influencing the molecules to move, and Tessa by removing or adding energy into mix. It's a pointless game, really, one that neither can win. But it does lead to some interesting discoveries along the way as they branch out into other types of matter. And then as they leave matter behind altogether and focus their powers on energy conversion and building forcefields.

Admittedly, Bucky doesn't really know about their little games and experiments. At least, he's unaware of what exactly it is that they're doing. But he's seen enough to be worried. Which is probably a big part of the reason why he looks so anxious when he steps out the door that morning, leaving Tessa to her own devices for an entire day as he _finally_ returns to work.

"I'll be honest," Wanda tells her as she settles in just a few hours later. "I thought I'd find him lurking just outside the apartment when I arrived."

Tessa lets out an amused snort and shifts her broken leg from the sofa onto the coffee table. "He's still on the property. I could have Friday call him and he'd be here in a matter of minutes."

"Seconds," she corrects, a teasing twinkle to her eye.

Tessa lets out a long sigh. "He needs some time," she explains quietly, a concerned look taking over her face. "He needs some time to himself. Away from me. He can't relax around me."

"Of course not," she says with a smile. "He's too busy taking care of you, waiting on you hand and foot."

"You mean coddling me?" she asks with an annoyed glare. Then, shaking her head, "It's more than that. It's… the way he looks at me… it's like he's always waiting for the other shoe drop. Waiting for something to… happen."

"He's worried."

She stares wistfully at the closed door, the one he'd walked out of hours earlier, a nervous frown furrowing his brow. "If something is going to happen, there's nothing he can do to stop it." She looks back at her friend with an almost amused gaze. "Him looming around me every second of the day isn't going to help. But when he's here, it's like he can't stop thinking about it."

Wanda offers a small smile of her own. "I think that _he thinks_ if he takes care of you now… if he makes sure that you don't have to worry about any of the little things, then you'll have more energy to put into the healing process."

She shrugs. "Maybe. Either way, I think this'll be good for him… getting back to the daily grind." She takes a sip of her coffee – _decaf_. "I'm crazy fucking jealous."

It isn't long before the two fall into one of their only _slightly_ dangerous games, laughing and shouting through the competitive fervor. Luckily, they manage to not destroy anything this time, ensuring that the apartment – and all that it contains – is left intact. Eventually the game winds down, both women feeling a bit drained from focusing their powers so intensely for so long… even if it is just for fun. And they end up getting swept away into deep conversation.

"It wasn't a bad orphanage," Wanda states, her soft accent wrapping slowly around the final word. "But it wasn't home."

"I hated the orphanage," Tessa says with a sigh. "I don't think I ever really understood why we were there."

It's rare that Tessa talks about her past, though now Wanda can plainly see why. Still, she's often caught off guard by just how much she doesn't know about her friend. "You were pretty young then, right?"

She nods, "About five. No, six."

"That's very young to be without family," Wanda frowns.

Tessa begins picking at the edge of the giant, thick brace on her leg, pulling at the edges of the Velcro. "Well, I had Anna at least."

Wanda's eyes widen. "Anna?"

Without looking up she responds, "My sister. I told you about Anna." When she gets no reply, she glances up and sees Wanda staring at her with an unreadable expression. "I never told you about my sister?" She shakes her head no. Tessa releases a long sigh. "Well, I had a sister. Her name was Anna. We were twins, actually. Like you and Pietro. Except we were identical." She stops briefly before shaking her head as though she just lost a thought. "Anyway, I had her. For a while."

Wanda leans forward, the movement slow and cautious. "For a while?"

Tessa returns to picking at the brace. "She died. About ten years ago."

"She did," Wanda says, almost to herself. Her mouth twitches at the sides, preparing to speak, but it's as though she doesn't have any words to go along with her thoughts. She looks over at her friend, sees her slumped shoulders, grim countenance, and she thinks of what she could possibly say in this moment. "Tessa," is all she's able to get out before the front door swings open and Bucky and Steve enter with arms full of groceries.

The two women startle. "Geez," Tessa breathes out. "What time is it?" She glances at the clock on the wall and then looks back over at Wanda. "Have we seriously been talking for four hours?" she whispers to her.

Steve glances at them curiously as he sets his bags down on the counter. "You two still playing with ice?"

"Better than fire," Bucky mumbles as he starts unpacking groceries.

Tessa frowns. "One little flame ball. _Tiny_. It didn't even set off the smoke alarm."

Steve's face pales as he sits down on the sofa beside Tessa. She shifts a bit to accommodate him, her hip resting on about four different pillows. When she yanks one out from behind her and tosses at him, he simply grabs it and carefully places it under her propped up leg. "Please don't play with fire indoors," he says, sounding every bit the schoolmarm.

"I should go," Wanda issues out, hurriedly rising from her seat. She almost collides with Bucky as he enters the room with a glass of water a handful of pills.

"In a hurry?" he asks, one brow raised suspiciously. He leans over Steve and hands Tessa the meds, gives her a dubious look as he watches her swallow them. "You two been up to something?"

She rolls her eyes as she hands the now nearly empty glass of water to Steve. "Yes. We're putting together a cult. Figure that we should be able to convince at least three or four thousand people that we're actually gods."

"You really shouldn't plan things like that while heavily medicated," Steve says with a grin.

"I'm pretty sure the bottle just says not to operate heavy machinery."

Wanda sucks in a quick breath and says, as she spins to leave. "I just have things… I need to do." Her voice sounds nervous and her eyes are flitting around the room as she speaks. She opens her mouth to say something else, but thinks better of it and slams it shut, gives a quick nod, and bolts out the door.

"Well that wasn't odd," Steve murmurs to himself.

Bucky nods, still eyeing the closed door. "Yeah. Give me a sec," he says, taking off into the hall. He leans back once he's in the open doorway and looks back at the pair on the couch. "I just want to thank her for keeping you company all morning."

"Mm-hmm," Tessa mutters. She faces Steve. "He probably wants to make sure we didn't break anything."

"You two usually break stuff?"

She shrugs. "It happens."

Wanda had scurried off so fast that she's already at her apartment door when he ducks out. "Wanda," Bucky calls, jogging down the hall after her. She stills in her doorway, but does not make eye contact with him as he approaches. "Everything okay?"

She glances into her apartment, clearly wanting to just step over the threshold and into her safe space. Her lips are tightly pressed together when she nods, as though she's now working to keep in the words that she was unable to conjure up before.

"You sure?" he asks, brows knitting together. He's suspicious, that she can see. But she can also sense the concern he's feeling. And it's that genuine concern that makes her finally turn and look at him. There's a brief moment when she first locks eyes with him that she is once again at a loss for words, unsure if she should say anything at all. "What is it?" he asks her, voice both gentle and insistent. "What happened?"

She takes in a long, deep breath. "Tessa said that she had a sister," she says to him finally.

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, she did. She died awhile ago."

"No." Wanda swallows deeply and shakes her head. "No," she repeats. "She never had a sister."

Bucky cocks his head at her, clearly confused. "She said she did… Why would you think—"

"I saw her," she interrupts. "I saw Anna. When I was… inside… when I gave you all those visions." She drops her head in sorrow. "When I was with Ultron."

"Okay…"

She lets out a deep sigh and looks back up at him. "James, Anna was not Tessa's sister. Anna _was_ Tessa." She drops her gaze again. "Only… I don't think she knows that."


	61. The Past Won't Stay Hidden Forever

It's almost exactly how she remembers it, down to the ivy sprawling up the stone façade and winding over the bronze plaque at the gate. _Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters_.

The three of them meander up the path, Bucky and Steve flanking Tessa, slowing to keep pace with her crutch work. "Youngsters?" Bucky questions with a scoff as he reads the sign. "Really?"

"Shut up," she mumbles, dazedly. Her hands are shaking. They have been since yesterday evening… since Wanda told her that her entire life – including her family – was a lie. Even now, as she white-knuckles the crutches, gripping tighter than she's ever held anything before, still… her hands will _not stop shaking_. Bucky notices and, without a word, he reaches over and drops his hand to the small of her back, offering a soft, reassuring touch as they approach the front of the mansion.

Just as Steve makes a move to press the buzzer, the giant oak door swings open. An all-too bright-eyed Bobby stands before them, wide smirk on his face. "I knew you couldn't stay away." He steps aside to let them enter. Steve stops short, surprised to see a stranger at the door instead of one of the people he'd met last time. "Be honest, was it saying that the Professor wanted to see you, or was it just the guilt trip about missing my wedding?"

Before she can answer, a tall, mocha-skinned blur of a woman sweeps into the hall and over to Tessa, pulling her into a swift – albeit gentle – embrace. "It was knowing that she damn well owed me an explanation for not answering any of my calls," she says sternly, despite the warm, motherly energy dripping off of her.

Tessa immediately falls into the hug, pinching the crutches as best she can to her sides so she can wrap both arms tightly around Storm. She can vaguely make out the tenor of Steve's voice as he introduces himself to Bobby, but it's all so very hard to hear anything at all over the loud sort of hum reverberating through her ears.

 _It's back_ , she thinks sadly, realizing only just now that the loud internal buzz was one of the things that helped to drive her from her home all those years ago. "I'm sorry," she whispers into Storm's shoulder, still holding her tight. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"Oh, honey," she mutters, her voice a mix of relief and regret. She pulls away and holds Tessa out at arm's length. "Well," she huffs. "Just look at you." She frowns down at the broken leg. Steve had told them about the motorcycle accident when he called last night so that no one would be startled by her current state. But it still pains Storm to see. She lets out a tight breath and moves her gaze back up to Tessa's face, then to her hair. She lets her fingers slip into the long waves cascading over her shoulder and she releases a small laugh.

"No more blonde," Bobby quips from her side.

Storm pinches a dark curl between two fingers and examines it closely. "I like it," she says definitively. "You fried the hell out of it with all that bleach. It looks much more healthy now. And so long!"

"Yeah," she sputters a bit. "Yeah, my hair's different."

She hums in approval before glancing to Tessa's left. "And who's this?"

Bucky hesitantly steps forward as she says, "This is James."

He extends a hand to Storm. "Pleasure," he declares, voice dropping an octave.

"Well," she intones, giving his hand a firm shake. "James, I'm Storm. Or Ororo, if you prefer." She shows a suggestive smile to Tessa as she asks, "He's a _friend_?"

Bucky doesn't wait for her to answer. "No ma'am," he says with a nervous clearing of his throat.

A rosy tint takes over Tessa's face and she bites nervously at her bottom lip. "He's my…" she starts, not sure where to go from there. It occurs to her that she's never actually had to introduce him to anyone before, and as such, she's not quite sure what to call him. "We live together," she settles on, earning a muffled chuckle from Steve as looms behind her.

Storm grins at Bucky, looks him up and down. "Cute," she says before swinging around to start down the hall. "Come on, honey. He's waiting for you." She turns back briefly and locks eyes with Tessa. "He's been waiting for you for a long time."

Tessa's not at all surprised to find that the Professor's study is almost exactly as she remembers it. Still low lit and smelling of books and sandalwood. The hum in her ears fades a bit when she slowly enters the room, and she feels a soft, cascading calmness roll over her. "You don't have to do that," she mutters, locking eyes with the man sitting across the room in a wheelchair, poised elegantly in front of the dwindling fire.

He smiles at her – bright and genuine – and all resolve is broken. Without a word, he beckons her to him. He opens his arms wide and she hobbles across the room as quickly as those damn crutches will allow, and very nearly falls into him, leaning awkwardly into the embrace. "It's just my energy, my dear," he tells her as he softly pats her back. "I promise you, I am not intervening."

When she finally pulls away, she's surprised to find that her cheeks are already covered in tears, and there's something about that realization that snaps her out of the peaceful, joyous reunion. She swipes away the tears, spurned by the way her heart has betrayed her. Of course she longed for the Professor's embrace, his quiet touch and soothing words. Of course she had missed him… so much, and for so long. But she was here for a reason, and it most certainly was _not_ to get sucked back into Professor Xavier's captivating aura. Yet here she is crying in his lap like the little lost orphan he'd first met. She drops her eyes, unable to look at him as she speaks. "Steve told me what you did. So I'm here."

If he's surprised by the chill to her voice, he doesn't show it. "So you are." Instead he merely smiles, letting his fingers drop casually from her shoulder as she stands. "And who is this new friend?" he asks, glancing behind her at Bucky.

"This is _James_ ," Storm replies with a suggestive wink.

"Yes," the Professor breathes out. He looks at the tall, dark haired man now standing at Tessa's side. His right arm is draped over her hip, his left hand – oddly glimmering within the fingerless glove – is holding tight to her crutch as she straightens herself. It's obvious – not just to the Professor, but to anyone who would lay eyes on the pair – what he is to her. And what she is to him. "James," he says, letting his name roll off his tongue delicately. He smiles wide at him.

For a brief moment Bucky thinks that he should return the smile, offer his hand, and introduce himself properly. Then he remembers why it is that they had to come here at all, and his face tightens as his fingers curl protectively around Tessa's side. "Professor Xavier," he bites out, nothing more than an acknowledgement that, _yeah, I know you, and I know what you did_.

"Well," Xavier says, letting out a deep breath. "I suppose we should get to it then." He motions to the small sofa on the opposite side of the fireplace, looking almost pleadingly up at Tessa's stony face. "Please, my dear, sit."

Storm rushes over and positions a chair at the side of the couch, grabbing the throw pillow off of it before inviting Steve to sit. She offers the pillow to Bucky, who quickly takes the hint and uses it to prop Tessa's leg on the coffee table in front of them as they settle into the sofa. "Can I get anyone anything?" she asks with a nervous smile.

Instead of taking the chair, Steve looms off to the side of the couch. "No. Thank you, Storm," he says with a clipped casualness. Then, turning to the Professor, "I told them what you told me when I came here."

Xavier looks up at him assessingly. "Yes. And yet, despite our honesty, you told _us_ nothing." He gazes at Tessa, kind eyes soothing her nerves with just a glance. "Are you alright, my dear?"

She clears her throat awkwardly, seemingly unprepared to talk. "I, uh… it's just a broken leg."

His gaze doesn't falter as he asks, "Is it?"

She blinks once and quickly looks away, averting her eyes. They settle on the window across from her and a sharp breath escapes her as she hones in on the headstones out in the barren garden. "The roses aren't in bloom," she says absently, almost to herself.

"No," he admits with a chuckle. "Of course not. It's winter, or nearly so." She says nothing, just continues to stare out the window. "Do you remember helping me in the garden?" he asks simply, a light curiosity wrapping around his words. "When you were a little girl?"

She looks back to him, her eyes cloudy at first, almost unfocused as she grasps at a fleeting memory of blinding sunlight warming her hands as they carefully plucked at red and pink roses. Then they sharpen, piercing him with a sort of coldness he'd almost forgotten she was capable of. "I don't know what I _remember_ ," she spits out at him.

He nods. For the first time since they entered the room, his face is serious, tone grave. "What can I tell you, then?" he asks, ready – finally – to lay it all bare.

"I want to know what you did to me," she demands, animosity leadening her voice. "I want to know – "

She's cut off by the door to the study swinging heavily open. All eyes whip around to see Logan step purposefully into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The Professor winces. "Logan, must you – "

"Bobby said you were here," he interrupts, gaze falling on Tessa. His eyes quickly traverse her body – from the braced leg propped on the table to the tight, bitter line of her lips – before shifting over and taking in the man at her side on the sofa. He sniffs at the air to get a read on him and lets out a low growl when he sees the man's arm wrap tighter around her shoulders. "Who the hell is that?" he asks, eyes narrowed threateningly at Bucky.

"Logan," Storm says sweetly, stepping over to him. "This is James." Then, turning to Bucky, "James, this is Logan."

Bucky gives the man a short nod, but makes no move to rise, choosing instead to stay cemented to Tessa's side.

The Wolverine continues to stare. "That doesn't answer my question."

Tessa rolls her eyes before leveling him with a venomous stare of her own. "Did you know about this?" she asks, tone almost menacing. "After everything with Jean… with _you_ … did you let him fuck with my head? Take away my memories?"

Logan's stance relaxes just a bit as he lets out a long, labored sigh. "Kid, I was the only one who tried to talk you out of it. _You_ wouldn't hear it."

She nods slowly, the anger melting into a sort of sad acceptance. Somehow, she knows he's telling the truth. She turns to Xavier. "I wanted you to do it?"

He gives her a soft smile. "I never wanted any of that for you. Just as I never wanted it for Jean." He drops his head, a sorrowful energy permeating the room. "I do believe that you had something… greater in you than she did. Not the power necessarily. But the ability to harness that power. Jean always struggled with that." He looks back up at her with an expression of such love, such compassion, that she feels her stomach clench. "But I had hoped that _you_ would have the strength needed to control your powers. And you did, for a time. I think you still do have that strength. But you…" He shakes his head sadly. "You didn't think so."

She shifts uncomfortably, averting her eyes, suddenly unable to look into his sincere gaze. "How powerful was I?" she asks, looking beyond the people in the room and out towards the garden once again. "If I couldn't control it…"

"You were more powerful than you could imagine, my dear."

She looks back at him, takes in his serious stare. "And I really couldn't handle it?"

He lets out a long sigh. "Perhaps it was guilt… over Jean. And Scott. Perhaps it was just…" He shakes his head vaguely. "There was a time when you wanted nothing more than to explore your powers. When you were young," he says, voice taking on a dreamy quality, "you so loved to _push_ yourself, to see just what you could do." He looks her dead in the eye, a bright glimmer very nearly bringing a smile to her stony face. "You begged to be part of the X-Men when you were just ten years old."

"I remember that," she says. "I think…"

Xavier lets out a soft chuckle as he thinks back to the feisty little ball of bravado she used to be. "But you were also _so_ invested in science," he says with a lilt. "Do you remember helping Dr. McCoy in his lab? You used to follow Henry around everywhere."

Her face breaks into a wide grin as she says sheepishly, "Hank introduced me to genetics." She turns to Bucky, her eyes shining. "He walked me through my first electrophoresis when I was eight." Bucky smiles at her genuinely, but says nothing.

"I tried to leave you with as many good memories as I could," Xavier states, drawing her attention back to him. "I'm glad you have that one." He clears his throat hesitantly. "I couldn't, of course, parse through them all myself though. That would've been terribly intrusive."

Logan raises his eyebrows as he leans heavily onto the desk behind the Professor. "I'm sure there were plenty of things in your memory bank that would've given the old man a heart attack anyway."

"Logan," Storm chides as he lets out a short chuckle along with passive shrug.

The Professor goes on as if there'd been no interruption. "The point, my dear, is that there came a time when you had to decide where your focus should lie. And you chose science. Mostly."

Storm settles into the chair by the sofa and leans forward, looking to Tessa with a brilliant smile. "We were so proud of you," she says, beaming. "You were so smart and you had such a bright future ahead of you."

Xavier nods. "Yes. But being in the outside world, living amongst those who harbored such fear and animosity towards us… towards anyone or anything different from them… I do believe that left you feeling a bit… reticent."

Logan gives her a serious look and says, "With us, you were still Nova, our little powerhouse. But you'd go back to school and deny everything about who you were."

Her head drops, eyes fixing on her hands in her lap. Without thinking, she begins to nervously twist and tug at her fingers. "For the first time in my life," she utters softly, "I just wanted to be normal."

Storm reaches out, leaning over Bucky to drop her hand onto Tessa's knee. "You were so young. Of course you wanted to fit in, and have friends. Every teenage girl wants to be _normal_."

"I do believe that may have played a role, though," the Professor intones. "I do believe that, had you remained here with us, training, honing your gifts… had you chosen at that time to truly _accept_ the greatness that resided within you, then perhaps it wouldn't have gotten the best of you."

Her head shoots up, gaze connecting with his. "So I lost it because I was… what? Denying my powers?"

He gives her a solemn look. "So much happened in such a short span of time. I don't think it was just that. I think you were simply… lost."

Her brow knits in confusion as she works to process everything. Snippets of memories flit in and out of her head, thoughts and images that she can only grasp at, but never quite hold onto. "The things I remember… about my life… about _everything_ …" She begins, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. "What's real?"

The Professor gazes over at her. "All of it is _real_ ," he tells her simply. "Some memories were hidden from your consciousness. The ones that were bound to bring back the darkness. And the ones that would lead you to know and understand the true depth of your powers."

"The true depth," she repeats almost to herself. "So I _can_ do more than I know?"

His eyes go wide, face taking on a light pallor. "You can do so much more than you know."

"What about Anna?" Bucky interrupts. His words are clipped and cross as he looks accusingly at the Professor. "Was she _real_?"

Xavier's mouth gapes open for a fraction of a second, seemingly nervous for the first time. But before he can say a word, Logan steps in. "She was real," he spits out at Bucky before turning his gaze on Tessa. "He didn't make her up," he tells her, normally gruff tone turning low and tender. He sits on the coffee table in front of her and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks her dead in the eye. " _You_ are Anna," he says with a slow nod. "Anna Teresa Summers. Scott and Jean… they called you Annie," he finishes with a small smile.

"It was…easier," Xavier says reluctantly. "I wanted you to maintain your memories, but it had to be done in such a way as to ensure you couldn't reach those memories that might draw you back into the darkness." He pauses just long enough to release a sad sigh. "Twins would have shared many of the same experiences – they'd have known the same people, endured the same trials, had the same playmates. The would've grown in the same home with the same family. By _splitting_ you into two – Anna and Teresa," He smiles at her woefully. " _Tessa_ … that allowed me to create a new persona for you – one free from the horrors that your mind couldn't tolerate – without having to recreate you entirely. It was the best way to keep your history intact."

"But…" she sputters, her mind racing and reeling. "But… you _made_ her. Or you _made_ me. And… and… I _remember_ her."

He nods meekly. "Yes, I know. And that was… difficult. For all of us. We all had to say goodbye to Anna. We all had to… let her go, let her be at peace."

Her eyes go suddenly wide. "But she's _not_ at peace. She's inside me. Haunting me."

The Professor quirks his head at her curiously. "Is that what's been happening?" He glances at Steve from the corner of his eye. "The Captain told us that you were… not well. But he refused to elaborate."

Steve clears his throat. "It wasn't my place to say." Bucky shoots him a derisive, almost accusatory look, and Steve just shrugs.

"She has nightmares," Bucky utters through gritted teeth as he turns to face the Professor. "Has since the accident."

"Accident?" Logan laughs out. "That's what you're calling it?"

Ignoring Logan's petulant interruption, Tessa looks to Xavier. "I think the nightmares are memories… ones I didn't know I had. _Anna's_ memories, I guess."

Before he can say anything, Bucky goes on. "She's also been hearing voices."

The Professor nods, seemingly unfazed. "And what do these voices say?" he asks her with a soothing tone.

Her mouth drops open, but no words come out. It took everything she had to even admit – first to Wanda, then to Bucky – that she heard these voices at all. But she's never had to give a voice to them herself. She continues to violently wring the fingers in her lap as she thinks of what to say. "They…" she stammers out. "They say things like… _you know_ or they call me a liar… or…" she stops suddenly, her eyes going wide and breath catching. "I think… I think that one of them is Anna. I thought that before. But…"

Bucky reaches over and lays his palm on her fisted hands, gently pries her mangled fingers apart as he leans into her and whispers, "It's okay, baby."

Her eyes bounce back up to Xavier. "You _killed_ her," she ekes out, nearly choking on the words. "You gave me a sister and then you _killed_ her. And now she's… she's… in my head!"

Logan pulls in a tight breath and shakes his head. "He didn't kill her," he says sadly. "You did." Her suddenly watery eyes flit over to him, widening as he speaks. "You couldn't…" he huffs out a breath and angrily wipes his hands along his jeans as he thinks of the right words to say.

But it's Storm who speaks up instead, her voice carrying a heavy weight when she says, "You made the choice to kill Anna. We just chose to let her go."

Bucky furrows his brow. He's had just about enough of this talking-around-the-truth bullshit. "What the hell does that mean?" he issues out, his face twisted in anger. "Why won't you people just _say_ what's going on?"

"She slit her wrists," Logan bites out, leveling the man before him with a bitter stare. " _She_ ," he says, pointing at Tessa, "Nova… Anna… Tessa… whatever the hell you wanna call her. _She_ slit her wrists. Right upstairs. In one of the bathrooms the kids still use today."

"No I didn't," she protests vehemently, shock playing out on her features. She turns to look at Bucky and sees that his stern face has fallen, his countenance now pale and drawn. "I didn't," she says, just to him.

"I found you," Logan says firmly. "You came home from school for the weekend. You went up to your room without saying a damn word to anyone. Storm said to give you space… I just wanted to shake you until you snapped out of it." Her eyes slowly return to his, boring into him with an almost irate sort of desperation. "I went to get you for dinner," he says slowly, never letting her gaze drop. "And I found you bleeding out on the bathroom floor."

She shakes her head, slowly at first, then more fervently. "No," she says once before firmly pressing her lips together. Her eyes fall shut as she states, "Anna… she… she cut herself. Her wrists." She shakes free of Bucky's grip, loosens her fingers from his hold and flexes them rapidly. They're so cold. Stiff and numb in a way they never used to feel. It wasn't until she died, slipped away in the trunk of that car… it wasn't until then that her hands had begun to burn with the cold touch of death. She opens her eyes slowly and looks down at them. _Oh no_ , she thinks suddenly, staring down at the pale flesh. _These aren't my hands. These are dead hands._

Logan reaches out to take hold of the cold, shaking hands. " _You_ cut your wrists," he tells her. "You… Anna."

She violently tugs away. "No," she shoots out, staring wide-eyed at her wrists. "No. Look." She holds them up in front of his face. "Look! No scars. I didn't do that. It wasn't me!"

He grabs at her hands as they flail around in front of him. "You healed yourself," he says, voice deepening and rising in volume.

Her brows pull together and she looks at him as if he's grown two heads. "I can't _heal_ ," she cries out.

"You can," he nods. "You could."

Storm moves in, settling on the very edge of the small sofa beside her. She wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders and draws her near. "You were able to do so much, honey. It was like… after Jean… after the Phoenix… it was like you found a whole new set of powers within you."

Tessa's head swivels to her right to look at Storm. Her tone is unyielding when she slowly issues out, "I can't heal."

Logan uses a finger to guide her chin to the front, drawing her gaze back to him. "You used my energy," he says, tapping his fingertip on the point of her chin playfully before dropping his hands back to his thighs. "My powers."

"But I…" she sputters, the low hum returning, buzzing inside her head. "I… can't… do that."

"You could," he corrects. "You did." He leans back, taking in the somber stares of the others in the room before gazing back at her. "I think you got scared. In that moment. I think you decided that you wanted to live." He shrugs. "But then you told the Professor that we should've let you die."

Xavier looks to her and says, "I could see that you needed peace. _Anna_ needed peace. And I didn't know how else to give it to her."

Storm gives her shoulder a sharp squeeze. "We were so scared that you'd do it again. You were so…" She sniffles a bit as tears prick at her eyes. "We had lost Jean and Scott. We couldn't lose you too."

Professor Xavier moves himself closer in his chair so that he's beside the coffee table where Logan sits. "I did what I felt you needed. At the time. But I believed, even then, that you could find your way out. And I believe it now." He gives her a serious, assessing stare, ending with an affirmative nod. "I can bring it all back for you," he offers simply. "I can make you whole again."

She shakes her head vigorously. "I don't want to." Her chin warbles and she sounds so much like a frightened child that the Professor has to fight the urge to claw his way into her head so he might quell her fears from within.

"My dear," he tells her, leaning forward. "This may be the only way. It seems the wall has all but crumbled."

"So rebuild it!" she shouts.

He nods simply. "I can do that. I can put you back the way you were. But… I don't know that it will hold." He exhales slowly as he leans back in his chair. "What's happening now – the dreams, the memories, the voices – those aren't symptoms of a near-death experience. What happened to you those months ago, that may have cracked the wall. But it's you who's been continuously chipping away at it since then. Your subconscious wants you to see the truth."

She nods blankly, quickly wiping away a stray tear from her cheek. "What if I'm not ready?" she asks, her voice grave.

He smiles lightly at her. "If you'll let me," he says with a lilt, "I can go into your mind today. Calm it. Help you to… think clearly." She stares ahead at him, giving no indication of whether she'll agree or not. "You can take some time then. Take the time to decide which path you want to take. I can rebuild the wall, even hide the memories of what's happened over the last several months, if that's what you want. You can return to a sort of peaceful oblivion." He chances a glance over at Bucky before saying, "I know you were happy in that life."

"But it's not her life," Steve interjects, almost surprising even himself with his words. He looks down at Tessa, who looks up at him with an unreadable expression. "I mean…"

Logan interrupts with, "The past won't stay hidden forever." He raises a somber brow. "I think this proves that."

Tessa returns her gaze to the Professor. "What's my other option?"

"I can tear it all down," he says with a sigh. "Remove the psychic block – slowly, of course. We'd do it piece by piece to ease the past back into your consciousness."

"But," Bucky starts hesitantly. His brow furrows, a look of deep concern etched into his face. "You said she tried to kill herself. That's why you blocked the memories to begin with. If you bring them back…"

He nods solemnly. "There is a risk there, yes." He turns back to Tessa with a soft, reassuring smile. "But I truly believe you're strong enough to manage."

Tessa's eyes flick nervously between the Professor's optimistic gaze and Bucky's reluctant, drawn expression. "You can give me time to think?" she asks slowly.

Professor Xavier nods.

She nods in return. "Let's do that then," she issues out all at once, a nervous breath punctuating the end. She looks back to Bucky, takes in his somber scowl. "Let's just… think about it. For now."

* * *

 **Final Notes:**

And so this installment of the Supernova Series ends. Bucky and Tessa have 'grown together'... now we'll see how Tessa's decision - whatever that may be - impacts their future.

Part 3 - wherein a decision is made - is titled Good Old Fashion Barton Christmas. And I promise you this... there will be a ton of fluff and joy mixed in with the angst. A little preview...

 _Clint reminds him that it's almost Christmas, and that is not the time of year to sit around being miserable, wandering aimlessly around the empty compound, pondering impossible decisions. It's the time of year to be happy – or at least learn how to fake being happy – with family._

 _Bucky gives him a suspicious look._

 _"Come home with me," he says with a genuine smile. "Come stay at my place for the holidays. It'll be good. It'll get you two out of New York, out of the compound… out of your own heads. C'mon! I'm telling you, a good old fashioned Barton Christmas is exactly what you and Tessa need."_

I hope everyone enjoyed We Grow Together. And I hope you'll all come back for more Bucky and Tessa! Thank you so much for reading!


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